NEW    HOPE; 


OB, 


THE  RESCUE. 


A  TALE  OF  THE  GREAT  KANAWHA. 


'  Thfre'i  a  Divinity  thnt  ih.ip«>  onr  tnd*, 
Roneh  how  thorn  how  w«  will." 

SlUKSPKAKX. 


NEW  YORK: 

BUNCE  &  BROTHER,  PUBLISHERS, 

1J«  NASSAU  STREET. 


ENTEBKD  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1855,  by 

BUNCE    &    BROTHER, 
IB  tie  Clerk't  Office  of  the  Diitrict  Coort  for  the  Southern  District  of  X«w  York. 


W.  H.  Tixioir,  St«reotj-p«r.— TAWS,  RCSSEI.L  &  Co.,  Printer*. — G.  W.  ALEXAXDKR,  Binder. 


NEW   HOPE. 


CHAPTER  I. 

ON  a  fine  day  in  October,  1798,  a  young  gentleman 
and  lady  were  standing  near  that  remarkable  canal 
worn  down  by  the  action  of  the  swiftly-rushing  water 
of  the  falls  of  the  Great  Kanawha. 

The  weather  had  been  dry ;  the  river  was  low,  and 
much  of  the  rock-covered  bottom,  which  is  usually  un- 
der water,  was  now  exposed,  and  afforded  a  pleasant 
and  interesting  promenade.  They  had  been  examin- 
ing those  singularly  smooth,  regular  cavities  in  the 
rock  which  are  called  pot-holes.  In  some  of  these 
were  fishes,  which  the  receding  waters  had  left  im- 
prisoned. In  all  of  them  was  the  instrument  of  their 
formation — a  stone,  which,  whirled  around  by  the  cur- 
rent in  some  indentation  of  the  rock,  had,  by  its  attri- 
tion, worn  a  deep  hole,  and  had  itself  become  a  smooth 
and  polished  pebble. 

While  they  were  gazing  on  the  clear,  deep  blue 
water,  which,  with  arrowy  swiftness,  was  darting 
through  the  chasm  on  the  edge  of  which  they  stood, 
the  sharp  report  of  a  rifle  quite  near  made  Matilda 
Ballenger  start.  They  looked  up,  and  her  brother, 
William  Henry  Ballenger,  saw  the  smoke  of  the  gun 
curling  above  the  high  and  craggy  cliff  that  overhangs 
the  narrow  valley  at  the  falls,  and  wafted  away  in  fan- 
tastic wreath  by  the  gentle  wind. 

The  body  of  some  animal,  which,  for  a  moment, 
seemed  suspended  in  the  air,  tumbled  down  the  side 
of  the  mountain,  and,  after  a  spasmodic  struggle  of 
momentary  duration,  lay  motionless  on  the  ground. 


14  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

As  the  smoke  passed  off,  there  appeared  on  the  brow 
of  the  beetling  cliff  the  form  of  a  man  with  a  rifle  in 
his  hand,  which  he  was  already  reloading;  and  as  his 
quick  eye,  in  ranging  over  the  scene  below,  perceived 
the  lady  and  gentleman  standing  near  the  water,  in  a 
clear  voice,  which  rang  through  the  valley,  he  cried  out, 

"  Stranger,  you  with  the  gal  thar  at  the  river,  look 
out :  he's  making  for  the  water,  and  if  I  hain't  kilt  him, 
he'll  make  fight  like  any  nat'ral  varmint." 

"  Don't  be  alarmed,"  said  William  to  his  sister  ; 
"  the  deer  is  dead,  or  entirely  disabled ;"  for  he  saw, 
from  the  sudden  paleness  of  her  cheeks,  that  she  was 
alarmed.  She  came  close  to  his  side  as  he  said, 
"  Why,  Mattie,  you  will  never  make  a  heroine  if  you 
permit  an  incident  like  this  to  chase  the  roses  from  your 
cheeks.  No  gallant  knight  or  chevalier  will  ever 
throw  himself  at  the  feet  of  such  an  arrant  little  cow- 
ard :  the  girls  in  the  days  of  chivalry  could  fight  as 
well  as  paint  on  all  proper  occasions." 

"  Mention  them  not  to  me,"  replied  Matilda.  "  I 
never  did  admire  the  hoydenish,  half-masculine  lady- 
loves of  those  plumed  and  spurred  disturbers  of  the 
public  peace  called  knights  and  chevaliers  ;  and  I  am 
sure,  brother,  that  you  admire  them  more  in  the  pages 
of  fascinating  fiction  than  you  would  in  real  life." 

Her  colour  returned,  and  as  her  apprehension  of 
danger  was  over,  she  continued  :  "  Is  this  Miss  Helen 
Templeman  that  you  saw  the  other  day,  and  praised 
so  outrageously,  one  of  those  nymphs  who  '  not  only 
has  black  eyes  herself,  but  can  furnish  a  friend  with  a 
pair  too,  if  wanted  ?'  " 

"  Come,  come,  Mattie,  that  is  too  bad.  I've  seen  the 
young  lady  you  have  mentioned  but  once,  yet ;  -if  you 
were  a  man,  I  should  consider  myself  bound  to  call 
you  out  for  so  rude  a  remark." 

"  Well,  brother,  I  suppose  I  must  take  it  for  granted 
that  she  is  all  your  fancy  painted  her ;  and  as  such 
paragons  of  perfection  must  be  very  rare  in  these  wild 
woods,  I  must  already  consider  her  as  my  sister-in- 
law  that  is  to  be." 


THE    RESCUE.  15 

''  Enough  of  that,  sweet  sister,  if  you  please.  But 
wait  till  you  see  her,  Maltie  ;  and  I  advise  you  not  to 
let  Victor  (/'arrington  lay  his  eyes  on  her  when  he 
strays  oil'  from  Richmond  across  the  mountains  here, 
and  has  to  call  at  our  house  to  inquire  the  way  back 
again." 

"  Pshaw !  William,  do  you  not  think  I  have  more 
reason  to  fear  from  the  courtly  and  polished  belles  of 
London  than  from  this  beauty  of  the  Loop  ?  Howev- 
er, I  am  too  vain  to  fear  the  rivalry  either  of  city  belles 
or  forest  maids." 

"  Ah  !  Mattie,  beware  of  Helen  Templeman.  The 
wild  flower  that  springs  up  beside  the  brink  of  some 
lonely  rivulet  in  the  forest  has  often  a  lovelier  tint  and 
richer  perfume  than  all  the  flaunting  flowers  the  green- 
house can  boast." 

The  hunter  was  now  seen  coming  down  the  side  of 
the  mountain  towards  them.  • 

"  Really,"  said  Matilda,  "  it  was  very  kind  in  Ben 
Bramble  to  warn  us  of  our  danger  from  the  animal  he 
had  shot."^ 

"There  is  seldom  need  of  warning  against  any  of 
the  inhabitants  ol  these  hills  after  Ben  has  levelled  his 
rifle  at  it ;  though  a  kinder  heart  than  his,  I've  heard, 
is  not  to  be  found  on  the  •mountains  or  valleys  except 
towards  what  he  calls  varmints.  But  how  did  you 
know  who  it  was,  Mattie!" 

"  Oh  !  I  saw  him  last  summer  at  the  White  Sulphur 
Springs,  whither,  as  he  said,  he  had  stepped  over  to 
sell  venison  and  skins,  and  to  buy  gunpowder  and 
something — lead,  I  suppose,  which  he  called  the  raal 
critter" 

William  smiled,  and  was  about  to  explain  to  her  the 
meaning  of  this  Western  phrase,  and  the  near  rela- 
tionship of  the  raal  critter  to  what,  in  the  Highlands 
of  Scotland,  is  called  mountain  dew,  when  his  sister 
continued : 

"  1  shall  never  forget  Ben's  first  appearance  among 
the  fashionables  at  the  Springs,  and  the  sensation  he 
produced.  See  what  a  striking  figure  he  presents  as 


16  NEW    HOPE  ;    OB, 

he  comes  towards  us.  He  has  on  the  same  wolfskin 
cap,  blue  hunting-shirt  with  white  fringe,  a  buckskin 
girdle,  with  that  horrid  knife  sticking  out  from  its 
sheath  ;  the  otter-skin  pouch  and  powder-horn,  breech- 
es of  buckskin,  and  moccasins  the  colour  of  the  fallen 
leaves  of  the  forest.  But  what  is  he  doing  ?  Did  you 
see  how  like  lightning  he  leaped  behind  that  large  syc- 
amore ?" 

Before  William  could  answer,  the  rifle  again  waked 
the  echoes  of  the  mountains,  and  they  heard  Ben  say, 

"  Lay  still,  now,  you  horned  devil.  You  ain't  the 
fust  four-legged  critter  that's  tried  to  take  rne  onawares 
in  these  here  hills." 

The  deer,  it  seems,  had  partially  recovered,  risen 
suddenly  to  its  feet  as  the  hunter  approached,  and 
lowering  its  head,  was  about  to  rush  at  him,  when, 
leaping  aside,  he  fired  the  second  time.  It  now  lay 
quivering  in  its  last  agony.  Ben  was  standing  over  it 
with  the  knife  in  his  hand,  dripping  with  blood.  Will- 
iam, with  some  difficulty,  prevailed  on  his  sister  to  ac- 
company him  to  the  spot.  Ben  looked  up  as  they  ap- 
proached, and  said, 

"  It's  well  for  you,  mister,  and  that  young  'oman, 
that  Long  Nancy  don't  miss  fire,  and  this  here  Lewis- 
burg  death-dust"  (touching  his  powder-horn)  '•  is  quick 
and  strong ;  for  a  more  vig'rous  buck  I  never  kotched 
playin'  possum  afore  ;  and  if  I  hadn't  come  upon  him 
pretty  quick,  he'd  a  had  some*  on  you  screechin'  in 
that,  deep  blue  water  yonder,  whar  you  were  standin' 
jist  ready  for  him  to  jerk  you  in  as  he  tuck  the  plunge." 

It  was  now  evident  that  their  situation  on  the  mar- 
gin of  the  deep,  rapid  current  had  not  been  free  from 
danger  from  the  large  and  powerful  animal  that  lay  be- 
fore them.  Matilda  drew  back,  and  Ben,  mistaking 
her  feeling  at  the  sight,  said  to  her, 

"  No  danger  now,  honey ;  life  and  fight's  all  out  on 
him.  The  fun's  all  over,  and  he's  only  fit  for  knife- 
handles,  breeches,  and  the  like  o'  that,  except  the  meat, 
and  that's  fit  for  the  gineral  himself,  for  a  fatter  var- 
mint I  hain't  kilt  for  this  many  a  long  day." 


THE    RESCUE.  17 

"  Come,  Mattie."  said  her  brother,  "  keep  your  sen- 
sibilities for  a  buck  of  another  species  ;  no  fainting 
here  at  the  sight  of  a  little  blood.  I  should  be  loath 
to  go  into  the  falls  for  water,  even  to  bathe  that  lily 
brow  of  yours." 

"  I  do  not  feel  like  fainting,"  said  Matilda  ;  "  but 
the  sight  of  that  free  and  noble  ranger  of  the  forest 
weltering  in  his  blood  calls  up  many  touching  associa- 
tions." 

"If  he  had  tech'd  you  with  them  horns,"  said  Ben, 
"  you'd  never  have  gone  to  a  nuther  'sociation  in  this 
here  sinful  world." 

William  smiled,  and  his  sister  was  recalled  from 
her  train  of  wandering  thought  by  Ben's  remark. 

"  Venison  like  this  is  becoming  scarce,  I  believe," 
said  William,  looking  at  Ben. 

"  Yes,  mister,  just  around  here  ;  but  they  are  rife 
yit  'bout  Cotton  Hill,  over  yander  on  tother  side,  whar 
this  one  was  makin'.  In  the  Loop  thar's  no  eend  to 
the  varmints.  If  old  Vandal  was  alive  now,  you'd 
sure  to  have  hearn  the  crack  of  his  Killbuck  this  day 
over  among  them  breaks  'bove  the  falls." 

"  In  crossing  the  mountains  between  this  place  and 
Lewisburg  this  fall,"  said  William,  "  we  found  excel- 
lent venison  at  almost  every  public-house." 

"  Well,  now,"  replied  Ben,  "  atween  Big  Sewell  and 
little,  and  a  most  as  fur  down, as  the  Hawk's  Neest, 
Bill  Sturgeon  finds  many  a  fat  buck,  and  now  and  then 
a  bar  ;  but  panters  and  wild-cats  is  scace.  Bars  are 
gettin'  so,  too.  We  can't  kill  enuf  now  to  kiver  the 
trunks  and  saddles  of  them  Tuckahoes  and  Carlinians 
as  comes  over  here  every  summer,  foolin'  away  thar 
money,  eating  up  riiggars,  and  drinkin'  sulphur-water, 
that's  jist  about  equal  in  smell  and  taste  to  the  wash- 
ings of  my  gun  barrel." 

"  Eating  negroes  !"  said  Matilda. 

"  He  means,"  said  William,  in  an  under  tone,  "hav- 
ing to  sell  their  negroes  to  pay  their  tavern  bills  at  the 
Springs." 

"  And  they  git  so  hongry,"  continued  Ben,  "  drench- 
1* 


18  NEW    HOPE  J    OR, 

ing  with  the  water,  and  dancin'  and  gallivantin',  that 
they  eat  up  all  the  varmints  in  creation,  and  all  the 
mutton  in  Greenbrier  .besides.  Sich  cooking,  and 
scrougin',  and  eatin',  and  drinkin',  I  never  seed  afore 
among  Christian  people  —  no,  not  even  'mong  the  In- 
juris  on  the  Massassippy." 

As  Ben  finished  these  remarks,  William  and  his 
sister  turned  away,  not,  however,  before  Ben  had  re- 
ceived their  thanks  for  his  warning,  and  a  kind  invita- 
tion to  the  house  of  their  father,  a  few  miles  below  the 
falls.  William  and  Matilda  mounted  their  horses, 
which  had  been  tied  to  the  pliant  limbs  of  a  sugar- 
maple  near  the  road  which  leads  from  the  falls  to 
Point  Pleasant,  and  passing  down  the  bank  of  the  river, 
were  soon  at  the  house  of  their  father,  Mr.  Edward 
Ballenger. 


CHAPTER  II. 

PERHAPS  the  curiosity  of  some  of  our  gentle  readers 
may  induce  them  to  inquire,  How  came  any  of  the 
Virginia  aristocracy  at  this  early  period  to  be  settled 
on  the  banks  of  the  Kanawha  ?  for  we  are  sure  their 
sagacity  has  discovered  that  the  gentleman  and  lady 
introduced  to  them  in  the  preceding  chapter  belong  to 
that  class.  It  is  true  ;  but  we  must  hasten  slowly,  and 
tell  our  tale  in  our  own  way. 

Patience  is  a  great  virtue  in  a  reader  as  well  as  in 
a  listener.  Although  it  is  the  privilege  of  writers,  and 
sometimes  right  and  proper,  to  begin  at  the  beginning, 
I  shall  not  go  back  to  Adam  and  Eve,  the  debarcation 
of  Noah  and  his  family  on  Mount  Ararat,  or  of  the  Pil- 
grims on  the  Rock  of  Plymouth.  After  the  latter 
event,  however,  and  the  settlement  of  English  colo- 
nists at  Jamestown,  in  Virginia,  it  is  proper  to  say  th?».t. 
strong  inducements  were  offered  by  the  King  of  Eng- 


THE   RESCUE.  19 

land  to  the  settlement  and  subjugation  of  the  new  lands 
of  the  Western  World.  Grants  of  large  tracts  of  coun- 
try were  made  to  noblemen,  and  to  some,  too.  who 
were  rather  ignoble,  for  very  small  temporal  and  pecu- 
niary considerations,  although  the  royal  grantor  was 
moved  thereunto  by  taking  into  his  "  consideration  the 
propagation  of  the  Christian  faith,  and  the  manifold 
benefits  arising  to  the  Church  of  God,  together  with 
the  welfare  of  multitudes  of  his  loyal  subjects,  by  the 
undertaking  and  vigorous  prosecution  of  plantations 
of  foreign  parts,  and  particularly  in  his  dominions  in 
America." 

Charles  the  Second  was  a  generous  monarch  of 
what  it  cost  him  little1  to  get,  or  to  give,  or  grant. 
In  his  grant  of  lands  to  Ralph  Lord  Hopton,  and 
others,  by  letters  patent,  under  the  great  seal  of  Eng- 
land, bearing  date,  in  the  first  year  of  his  reign,  at 
St.  Germain's  en  Ley,  the  18th  day  of  September,  he 
not  only  gave  and  granted  to  them,  their  heirs  and  as- 
signs forever,  all  that  entire  territory  bounded  within 
the  heads  of  the  Rivers  Rappahannock  and  Quiriough, 
or  Potowmac,  and  Chesapeake  Bay,  but  also  great  and 
important  portions  of  the  royal  prerogative,  to  wit : 
"  The  royalty  of  hawking  and  hunting  all  sorts  of  fish, 
as  well  whales,  sturgeons,  and  other  royal  fishes,  and  all 
sorts  of  deer,  wild  beasts,  and  fowl,  with  power  to 
erect  parks  for  breeding  and  sustentation  of  deer  and 
other  wild  beasts  of  chase  ;"  and  all  this  for  the  paltry 
contingent  consideration  of  one  full  fifth  part  of  all 
gold  mines  and  gold  ore,  and  one  tenth  of  all  silver 
mines  and"silver  ore,  and  the  certain  sum  of  six  pounds, 
thirteen  shillings,  and  fourpence  yearly,  to  be  paid  at 
the  feast  of  St.  John  the  Baptist,  at  the  receipt  of 
Jamestown,  in  Virginia.  Thomas  Lord  Culpepper 
bought  out  these  patentees,  and  James  the  Second 
confirmed  to  him,  by  other  patents,  this  grant,  which 
the  Lieutenant-governor,  the  Council,  and  Burgesses 
of  Virginia  confirmed,  in  the  year  1736,  to  his  heir, 
Thomas  Lora  fairtax,  baron  of  Cameron.  It  was, 
however,  provided  that  the  patentees  should  not  act  or 


20  NETV  HOPE;  OR, 

intermeddle  in  military  affairs  within  the  said  tract  of 
land,  or  with  the  government  of,  or  command  of,  the 
castles,  forts,  &c.,  and  that  the  tenure  of  lands  under 
the  proprietors  should  be  in  free  and  common  soccage. 

This  instance  sufficiently  displays  the  liberal  munifi- 
cence and  wise  policy  of  the  kings  of  England  in 
forming  settlements  in  America.  The  colonial  govern- 
ment of  Virginia  followed  up  this  policy,  but  not  in  the 
same  liberal  spirit.  Instead  of  six  pounds,  thirteen 
shillings,  and  fourpence,  for  a  territory  that  would 
cover  a  dozen  German  principalities,  they  actually 
raised  the  price  of  lands  to  two  dollars  for  every  hundred 
acres ;  but,  to  compensate  for  this,  threw  in  all  the 
whales,  sturgeon,  and  other  royal  fishes,  with  all  the 
deer  and  other  wild  beasts  :  and  as  for  hawking,  it  had 
already,  at  so  great  a  distance  from  the  throne,  become 
obsolete. 

The  colonial  governments,  too,  adopted  the  plan  of 
paying  for  military  services  in  land.  When  the  French 
war  broke  out,  before  the  Revolution  which  severed  the 
colonies  from  the  mother-country,  the  officers  and  sol- 
diers of  Virginia  received  land-warrants  for  their  ser- 
vices. But  the  tenure  was  riot  like  that  which  had 
prevailed  in  Europe  for  similar  services.  The  feudal 
system  yielded  here  to  the  more  liberal  allodial  right. 
Men  who  had  "  left  their  native  land  in  search  of  free- 
dom, and  found  it  in  a  desert,"  preferred  to  hold  their 
lands  of  no  superior  but  the  Lord  of  hosts.  True  it  is, 
there  were  landlords  and  tenants  ;  but  those  were  not 
feudal  lords,  nor  these  villeins.  The  officers  and  sol- 
diers who  survived  the  defeat  of  General  Braddock, 
who  were  from  the  colony  of  Virginia,  received  at  least 
a  part  of  their  pay  in  land-warrants ;  and  the  Revolu- 
tionary soldiers,  at  a  subsequent  period,  were  paid  in 
similar  coin.  The  lands  granted  to  them  were  gener- 
ally west  of  the  mountains,  in  a  wild,  unsettled  coun- 
try, infested  by  wild  beasts,  and  either  inhabited  by  the 
native  tribes  of  Indians,  or  traversed  by  them  in  their 
warlike  and  marauding  or  hunting  expeditions.  The 
district  of  Kentucky,  which,  by  the  common  consent  of 


THE    RESCUE.  21 

the  neighbouring  tribes,  had  been  their  unsettled  hunt- 
ing-ground— the  dark  and  bloody  ground  for  which  the 
red  man  of  the  forest  and  the  long  knives  of  Virginia 
and  Carolina  contended,  was  filling  rapidly  with  a 
white  population.  The  banks  of  the  Great  Kanawha, 
too,  near  which  the  family  of  Logan  had  been  exter- 
minated, and  the  great  chieftain  Cornstalk  had  been 
slaughtered  in  the  fort  by  a  suddenly-excited  and  en- 
raged soldiery,  had  ceased  to  be  the  scene  of  Indian 
hostility.  The  battle  at  Point  Pleasant,  long  before, 
had  checked,  but  did  not  entirely  restrain,  the  incur- 
sions of  the  savages.  They  occasionally  crossed  the 
Ohio  River,  and  committed  murders  and  depredations, 
till  Wayne's  campaign ;  and  many  a  traditionary  tale, 
of  thrilling  interest,  is  told  by  the  descendants  of  those 
who  dwelt  around  the  fort  at  the  Mouth  of  Elk. 

To  pay  the  officers  and  soldiers  in  Western  land  so 
situated,  not  only  served  to  liquidate  a  debt  on  easy 
terms,  but  tended  to  throw  a  cordon  of  military  popu- 
lation around  the  interior  settlements,  and  to  extend 
them  over  a  wider  surface.  By  the  timid,  the  igno- 
rant, and  those  who  had  acquired  habits  of  dissipation 
in  the  army,  or  who  were  driven  by  their  necessities, 
these  lands  were  alienated,  exchanged,  or  sold  for  little 
or  nothing,  while  by  the  prudent  and  far-seeing  they 
were  retained,  although  by  many  they  were  never  set- 
tled, or  even  subjected  to  actual  possession.  In  many 
instances,  a  horse,  a  rifle,  a  gun,  and  even  a  bottle  of 
rum,  was  the  only  consideration  paid  for  tracts  of  land 
which  would  now  command  fifty  thousand  dollars,  be- 
ing in  the  heart  of  a  dense  population,  and  of  exhaust- 
less  fertility. 

Many  gentlemen  whose  fortunes  failed  them  in  the 
Old  Dominion,  repaired,  with  sorrowful  hearts,  to  their 
Western  lands  as  to  a  forlorn  hope,  and  in  a  few 
years  found  their  fortunes  quadrupled.  Others,  unwil- 
ling to  encounter  the  toils  and  anxieties  of  removal. 
died  poor,  and  bequeathed  to  their  posterity  these  wild 
lands.  The  latter,  in  many  instances,  influenced  by 
the  feelings  of  their  fathers,  could  not  prevail  on  them- 


22  KE\V  HOPE;  OR, 

selves  or  their  families  to  remove  to  the  West.  They, 
at  a  later  period,  sold  them  to  some  squatter,  or  to 
some  speculator  in  land,  or  forfeited  them  for  the  non- 
payment of  taxes,  or  were  swindled  out  of  them  by 
their  own  perfidious  agents  in  the  West. 

Most  of  those  who  ventured  to  cross  the  mountains 
or  passed  down  the  Ohio  River,  settled  in  the  district 
of  Kentucky.  There  the  lands  were  reported  to  be 
of  the  best  quality  in  the  Western  country.  But  some 
gentlemen,  even  much  earlier,  preferred  the  fend  on 
the  Great  Kanawha  to  those  farther  west,  and  located 
their  surveys  in  the  rich  alluvial  valley  of  that  river. 
Among  these  were  General  Washington,  Major  Fry, 
Doctor  Craick,  Captain  Edward  Ballenger  the  elder, 
and  others  who  had  served  in  the  French  war  before 
the  Revolution.  Savage's  patent,  still  farther  west, 
covered  thousands  of  acres  on  Guyandotte  River.  Mr. 
Ballenger,  whose  son  and  daughter  we  have  introdu- 
ced at  the  falls,  after  the  death  of  his  wife  and  the  loss 
of  his  fortune  by  endorsing  the  paper  of  his  friends, 
who  permitted  him  to  pay  sixty  thousand  dollars  for 
them,  removed  from  Alexandria,  on  the  Potomac,  to  a 
remnant  of  his  father's  military  lands  on  the  Kanawha. 
This  patrimonial  farm,  or,  rather,  forest,  was  on  the 
northeast  side  of  the  river,  a  few  miles  below  the  falls. 
Here  he  arrived  late  in  the  summer  of  1798.  He  had 
tarried  a  few  weeks  on  the  way,  at  the  watering-pla- 
ces among  the  mountains  of  Virginia,  for  the  benefit 
of  his  own  health,  impaired  by  exertion  and  anxiety. 
Here  he  parted  with  old  and  valued  friends,  who  were 
spending  the  hot  months  of  summer  in  these  cool  re- 
treats ;  and  here  his  son  and  daughter  bade  farewell 
to  classmates  and  bosom-friends,  about  to  wend  their 
way  back  to  the  banks  of  the  Potomac  and  the  James 
River,  the  seats  of  civilization,  refinement,  and  happi- 
ness, while  they  were  about  to  plunge  into  the  deep 
and  dreary  forests  of  the  West,  far  from  their  native 
home,  and  no  more  to  enjoy  the  society  and  sweet 
converse  of  their  early  associates  and  friends.  At  the 
White  Sulphur  Springs  they  had  seen  Ben  Bramble, 


THE   RESCUE.  23 

whom  Matilda  so  quickly  recognised  at  the  falls, 
whither  she  and  her  brother  had  ridden  for  the  first 
time  since  they  passed  them  on  their  way  to  their 
new  abode.  Struck,  in  their  transient  passage  by 
them,  with  the  sublime  and  picturesque  beauties  of  the 
scenery,  they  had  seized  the-  first  opportunity  of  visit- 
ing the  falls,  to  survey  at  their  leisure  the  cataract 
itself,  and  the  surrounding  objects  of  interest. 


CHAPTER  III. 

"Wnv,  he's  a  pretty  fellow,"  said  William  to 
his  sister,  as  they  sat  by  the  fire  on  a  cold  even- 
ing in  December,  tossing  to  her  a  letter  which  he 
had  been  reading  :  "  he's  a  pretty  fellow  to  be  talk- 
ing to  us  of  the  Mersey  and  the  Thames,  and  the 
Avon  of  Plinlimmon,  and  the  Vale  of  Llanjrollen, 
and  the  Highlands  and  lakes  of  Scotland.  He  has 
seen  the  Powhatan  and  the  Potomac,  the  Peaks  of 
Otter,  Harper's  Ferry,  and  the  Warm  Spring  Mount- 
ain." 

"  Ah,  brother,"  replied  Matilda,  eagerly  seizing 
the  letter,  "  Victor  has  never  descended  yet  the 
cliffs  of  New  River;  has  never  stood  upon  the 
brink  of  the  Hawk's  Nest,  or  looked  down  upon 
the  Valley  of  the  Great  Kanawha  from  the  rock- 
raised  parapets  above  the  falls.  He  has  never  seen 
Cotton  Hill  in  October." 

"Well,  I  pity  the  boy,"  said  William,  "and  I 
fear  he  will  return  from  Europe  a  most  insuffera- 
ble coxcomb,  Mattie." 

"If  he  does,"  said  Matilda,  "  which  I  don't  be- 
lieve he  ever  will,  still  he  will  have  most  travelled 
young  gentlemen  to  keep  him  in  countenance,  and 
so/ne,  too,  who  have  never  travelled  very  far." 

"I  don't  know  who  the  gentleman  mought  be 


24  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

that  you  ar  talkin'  on,  Master  Will/'  said  Ben 
Bramble,  who  at  that  moment  looked  up  from  the 
mysteries  of  a  Dutch  puzzling  iron,  while  Matilda 
was  deeply  engaged  in  reading  the  letter  :  "  I  don't 
know  nothin'  of  him  j  but  if  he's  never  seed  Cotton 
Hill  in  the  fall  of  the  year,  no  matter  whar  he's 
travelled,  he's  got  something  to  see  yit.  It's  one 
of  the  beauties  of  God's,  own  makin' — round,  and 
smooth,  and  plump  as  a  young  gal  when  she's  jest 
a  womanlike  ;  them  grape-vines  a  curlin'  round  the 
heads  of  the  high  trees  on  the  top,  like  Miss  Mat- 
tie's  hair  when  it  falls  down  on  her  shoulders  j  and 
then  the  redbirds,  and  the  dogwoods,  and  the  sas- 
safras, and  the  sugar-trees,  with  thar  leaves  of  all 
colours  a  playin'  in  the  wind  and  a  shining  in  the 
sun — thar's  nar  a  calico  gown  that  I  ever  seed  yit 
to  be  compared  to  it." 

Matilda,  who  had  finished  reading  the  letter, 
looked  at  Ben,  and  asked  him,  u  What's  that  you 
said  about  my  hair  1" 

"Only,"  said  Ben,  "that  it  puts  me  in  mind  of 
the  grape-vines  all  covered  with  green  leaves,  that 
hang  curlin'  down  from  the  tops  of  the  trees  on 
Cotton  Hill." 

"That's  the  most  poetical  compliment,  papa," 
said  Matilda  to  her  father,  "  that  ever  was  paid  to 
me." 

"  True,  my  dear,"  replied  he  :  "  ' poeta  nacitur?  " 

A  tap  was  heard  at  the  door.  Mr.  Ballenger  laid 
down  the  book  he  had  been  reading  when  inter- 
rupted by  the  observation  of  his  daughter,  and 
opened  the  door,  saying  to  a  man  whose  figure  the 
light  of  the  candles  disclosed,  "  Walk  in,  sir." 

The  person  who  entered  was  a  well-set  man  of 
middle  size,  with  a  blanket  overcoat  and  broad- 
brimmed  white  hat  on,  both  of  which  had  seen 
some  service.  There  was  nothing  remarkable  in 
his  face  or  its  expression,  both  of  which  would  by 
most  persons  be  thought  good-looking,  except  a 
restless  roving  of  his  eyes,  which  rested  not  a  mo 


THE    RESCUE.  25 

ment  on  any  one  object,  and  seemed  never,  except 
by  positive  glances,  to  meet  the  eyes  of  other  per- 
sons. A  slight  tinge  of  red  on  his  nose,  if  not 
caused  by  the  sharp,  chilling  air  through  which  he 
had  just  ridden,  indicated  the  recent  commence- 
ment rather  than  the  long-continued  habit  of  in- 
temperance. On  those  who  are  not  close  ob- 
servers of  men,  the  wandering  expression  of  his 
eyes  would  have  impressed  the  idea  that  he  was  a 
diffident,  if  not  a  timid  man  j  but  their  continual 
glancing  xvas  like  that  of  a  wild  animal  seeking  its 
prey,  or  caught  and  confined,  looking  for  some  hole 
through  which  to  escape.  His  first  words,  how- 
ever, would  have  dissipated  all  ideas  of  his  diffi- 
dence or  timidity,  if  such  had  been  produced. 

"My  name  is  Isaac  Forster,"  said  he.  "It's  on 
my  letter  of  introduction  :  but  that's  in  my  sad- 
dlebags, Mr.  Ballenger,  with  other  papers  of  busi- 
ness." Saying  this,  he  drew  a  chair  close  to  the 
fire,  and  spreading  his  legs  and  hands  to  receive 
its  genial  warmth,  and  looking  all  round  the  room, 
continued,  "It's  too  late  for  business  to-night,  Mr. 
Ballenger  j  to-morrow,  sir,  will  be  time  enough  for 
that."  . 

"If  you  have  business  with  me,  sir,"  said  Mr. 
Ballenger,  returning  from  the  door,  "and  such  is 
your  pleasure,  we  will  attend  to  it  in  the  morning, 
Mr.  Forster.  A  sharp  evening,  sir,  is  this  for  the 
beginning  of  December." 

"  Pretty  sharp,"  said  Forstev  ;  "  but  I  never  mind 
the  weather.  1  don't  regulate  that.  It's  not  my 
business." 

William,  in  an  under  tone,  remarked  to  his  sis- 
ter, "  That  man  has  lived  all  his  life  in  taverns.  He 
thinks  he's  in  one  now." 

Matilda,  in  turning  her  head  towards  her  brother, 
caught  the  eye  of  Ben  Bramble,  who  was  beckoning 
to  her  from  an  adjoining  room,  into  which  he  had 
passed  unobserved  as  Isaac  Forster  entered  the 
front  door.  Ben  Bramble,  since  meeting  with  Will 


26  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

iam  and  his  sister  at  the  falls,  had  been  frequently 
at  New  Hope,  for  such  was  the  name  which  Mr. 
Ballenger's  children  had  given  to  his  place  of  resi- 
dence on  the  Kanawha.  .He  had  evidently  become 
much  attached  to  the  family,  and  felt  at  home  in 
their  house.  Many  were  the  inquiries  he  had  made 
about  Old  Viginny,  and  especially  in  relation  to 
persons  living  in  Fairfax  and  Fauquire,  for  so  he 
called  a  well-known  county  in  Eastern  Virginia, 
whence  his  father  had  removed  to  the  West  while 
Ben  was  yet  a  youth. 

Shortly  after  the  death  of  his  father,  which  hap- 
pened two  years  ago,  caused  by  the  bite  of  a  rat- 
tlesnake, which  struck  him  on  the  leg  above  his 
moccasin  as  he  was  on  a  hunting  excursion  on  the 
hills  above  the  mouth  of  Ganley  River,  Ben  had 
been  toFauquier  to  dispose  of  some  interest  which 
his  father  had  held  in  two  small  undivided  tracts 
of  land  in  that  county.  The  companions  of  his 
youth  persuaded  him  to  remain  in  the  old  settle- 
ment, but  in  vain.  He  loved  the  wild  woods  of  the 
West,  returned  to  his  woodcraft,  in  which  he  took 
the  greatest  delight,  and  rarely  entered  the  dwell- 
ings of  any  except  those  who  had  come  from  that 
part  of  the  country  in  which  he  was  born.  Of 
these  there  were  very  few  ;  and  as  the  new-comers, 
Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  family,  were  nearest  to  his 
range  in  the  woods,  he  soon  became  a  frequent  vis- 
iter.  The  kindness  of  Mr.  Ballenger,  the  frank  and 
friendly  manners  of  his  son,  and  the  gentle,  sweet, 
and  winning  behaviour  of  Matilda,  had  won  the 
hunter's  heart.  Often  did  he  linger  at  New  Hope 
till  twilight  was  stealing  over  the  earth,  listening 
to  the  conversation  of  the  family,  or  amusing  them 
by  the  recital  of  wildwood  stories  and  the  thrilling 
incidents  of  his  hunting  excursions. 

When  Matilda  saw  Ben  beckoning  to  her,  she 
glided  out  of  the  sitting-room.  Mr.  Ballenger  did 
not  perceive  that  Ben  had  left  it.  Turning  to  a. 
gray-headed  servant  who  had  brought  Mr.  Forster's 


THE    RESCUE.  27 

saddlebags  into  the  room,  he  said  to  him,  "  Thomas, 
have  this  gentleman's  horse  taken  to  the  stable." 

"  Ay,  ay,  do,  Tommy,"  added  Mr.  Forster :  "  feed 
him  well,  and  a  little  currying  and  rubbing  won't 
hurt  him,  you  know,  my  boy." 

As  the  servant  retired,  with  a  somewhat  con- 
temptuous look  at  his  master's  guest,  Matilda  re- 
turned, and  approaching  her  father,  said  something 
to  him  in  a  low  tone,  on  which  Mr.  Ballenger  left 
the  room,  apologizing  to  Forster  for  a  few  mo- 
ments' absence. 

"Tell  your  daddy  to  come  here,"  Ben  had  said 
to  Matilda  when  she  obeyed  his  signal.  "  But  jist 
stop,  honey,  twell  I  say  that  he  that  would  harm 
you  or  yourn  must  be  wus  than  a  wildcat ;  and, 
to  my  notion,  Zac  Forster's  jist  that  man." 

Indeed,  he  who  would  have  harmed  such  a  crea- 
ture as  Matilda  Ballenger  must  have  been  the  vic- 
tim of  the  worst  passions,  or  destitute  of  all  the 
finer  feelings  of  our  nature.  To  persons  of  sensi- 
bility and  cultivated  taste,  her  very  presence  was  a 
fascinating  charm.  Even  to  the  hardy,  rough,  un- 
cultivated, but  honest,  manly  hunter,  who,  if  he  pos- 
sessed not  refined  feelings,  had  eyes  to  see  and  a 
heart  to  feel,  her  uncommon  beauty,  grace,  and 
loveliness,  and  her  soft  and  silver-toned  voice,  were 
delightful.  They  could  not  fail  to  touch  the  soul. 
She  was  just  seventeen — not  tall'or  very  slender — 
but  her  person  was  finely  moulded  ;  so  finely,  that 
the  sculptor  might  have  taken  it  for  the  model  of  a 
Grecian  grace.  Her  hands  and  feet,  although  not 
the  smallest  of  the  small,  were  so  nicely  propor- 
tioned and  delicately  finished,  that  they  seemed 
smaller  than  they  really  were.  Her  white  and  ta- 
per neck,  seen  through  her  luxuriant  locks  of  dark 
auburn  hair,  rising  from  a  bust  of  unsurpassed  love- 
liness, like  a  column  of  alabaster  half  concealed  by 
a  clustering  vine,  supported  a  head  a  fit  capital  for 
such  a  column.  Its  Attic  elegance  of  outline — the 
smooth  and  oval  brow  of  snowy  whiteness  —  the 


28  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

curved  and  delicately -pencilled  eyebrow  —  the 
straight,  finely-chiselled  nose  —  the  lips,  which, 
when  parted  to  speak,  displayed  her  small,  regular, 
white  teeth,  were  like  the  opening  bud  of  a  Da- 
mascus rose.  Her  long  and  dark  eyelashes  seem- 
ed to  separate  and  soften  the  glances  of  her  eyes, 
which  were  not  those  of  a  gazelle,  but  of  an  intel- 
ligent, sensitive,  benevolent  being,  beaming  with 
the  expression  of  every  thought  and  every  feeling  : 
all,  all  would  strike  the  dullest  eye,  and  reach  the 
hardest  heart. 

To  persons  of  ordinary  discernment,  these  were 
the  mere  decorations  of  the  temple,  shadowing 
forth  the  divinity  that  dwelt  within.  The  thoughts 
of  her  mind,  the  emotions  of  the  heart,  might  be 
seen  to  pass  over  her  face,  and  vary  its  expression 
as  the  shadows  of  light  summer  clouds  on  an  even- 
ing in  May,  moving  through  the  serene  and  sunlit 
sky,  pass  over  the  verdant  plain  below,  and  check- 
er it  with  light  and  shade.  Yet  over  the  sunny 
brightness  of  her  countenance  there  was  a  slight, 
but  perceptible,  shade  of  melancholy,  subdued,  in- 
deed, and  softened  by  what  religion,  faith  in  the 
Redeemer,  and  an  abiding  sense  of  gratitude  to 
God,  and  an  humble  dependance  and  cofTfuling 
trust  in  his  Divine  protection,  never  fail  to  impart 
to  the  human  face. 

Oh,  how  touching!  oh,  how  tender  and  affecting 
is  that  expression  !  It  was  a  veil  which  shaded, 
but  did  not  conceal,  the  brightness  and  playful 
sprightliness  of  her  nature.  Perhaps  the  death  of 
her  mother,  which  had  happened  not  only  since 
Matilda  Ballenger  was  old  enough  to  become  most 
strongly  attached  to  her,  but  to  appreciate  her 
worth,  and  to  feel  the  irreparable  loss  which  she 
herself  had  sustained  in  being  deprived  of  all  the 
blessings  and  all  the  tender  and  endearing  associa- 
tions connected  with  the  hallowed  name  of  mother, 
might  have  left  some  abiding  traces  of  sorrow  on 
the  face  of  her  daughter.  The  pecuniary  embar- 


THE    RESCUE.  29 

rassments  of  her  father,  too,  their  visible  effect  on 
his  health,  and  the  tearing  asunder  of  the  ties  which 
bound  them  to  the  place  of  their  nativity  and  to 
their  early  friends,  could  not  fail  to  throw  tempo- 
rary clouds,  at  least,  over  the  brow  of  those  who 
naturally  possessed  the  most  elastic  and  buoyant 
spirits. 

But  the  constitution  of  our  nature,  in  this  re- 
spect as  in  all  others,  manifests  the  benevolence 
of  an  all-wise  Creator.  In  youthful  bosoms  grief 
and  depression  soon  yield  to  the  stronger  influen- 
ces of  joy  and  gladness,  which  will  assume  their 
rightful  sway,  although  for  times  and  seasons  the 
former  may  usurp  a  short-lived  empire.  From  his 
more  active  employments,  William  Henry  Ballen- 
ger,  since  the  removal  of  his  father,  had  recovered 
his  usual  flow  of  spirits,  and  frequently  rallied  his 
sister  on  her  pensive  airs.  It  was  not  strange  that 
Ben  Bramble,  alone  as  he  was  in  the  world,  had 
become  attached  to  this  family.  Attachment  to 
something  of-its  own  kind  is  a  want,  almost  a  ne- 
cessity, of  a  generous  and  noble  mind.  Ben  not 
only  desired  to  see  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  family 
comfortable  in  their  new  home,  but  determined  to 
guard  them  against  any  and  every  evil  that  might 
menace  them.  He  had  no  favourable  opinion  of 
Isaac  Forster,  whom  he  knew  as  a  land  agent,  land 
speculator,  and  surveyor.  Ben  had  been  a  chain- 
carrier  for  him  on  several  surveys,  and  had  either 
seen  or  heard  things  which  had  impressed  him 
strongly  and  unfavourably  towards  him. 


30  NEW   HOFE  ;    OR, 


CHAPTER  IV. 

WE  are  eft  to  conjecture  what  communications  Ben 
Bramble  made  to  Mr.  Ballenger  in  the  private  inter- 
view which  he  sought  with  him,  for  the  confidence  re- 
posed in  Mr.  Ballenger  was  never  violated  by  that 
gentleman.  Ben  did  not  return  to  the  sitting-room. 
We  incline  to  think  that  he  did  not  wish  Mr.  Forster, 
whose  quick  eye  he  had  escaped  by  quickly  passing 
into  the  adJoinins"  room  as  Mr  Forsta*-  entered  at  th? 
tront  door,  co  Know  o\  ms  pieseiite  mat  evening  au 
New  Hope.  Ben  did  not  return  to  the  sitting-room, 
but  in  leaving  the  house  he  met  Thomas,  the  servant, 
coming  from  the  stable. 

"  Thomas,"  said  he,  "  did  you  ever  hunt  a  pole- 
cat ?" 

"  No,  Massa  Ben.  Thar's  none  of  um  'bout  Alex- 
andry,  whar  I  come  from." 

"  Well,  I  tell  ye,  if  you  ever  have  the  luck  to  get 
arter  one,  don't  pinch  him  too  close  ;  tain't  agreeable, 
nor  safe,  nother,  to  be  nigh  him.  With  one  switch 
of  his  tail  he'll  blind  and  pison  all  creation.  Thar's 
many  on  um  'bout  here,  and  thar's  one  sort  that  goes 
on  two  legs,  and  them's  the  wost  varmints  in  natur." 

"  Law  !  Massa  Ben,  you  don't  say  so  ?" 

"  Yes  I  do,  Thomas,  and  thar's  one  about  now." 

"  Bless  my  soul !  does  he  look  all  round  every  way 
and  nowhar,  like  that  gemman  in  de  house,  wid  nose 
like  pokeberry  ?" 

"  No,"  said  Ben ; ""  he  looks  ahead,  and  goes  the 
way  he  looks.  But  Zac  Forster  looks  one  way  and 
goes  another." 

"  Look  one  way,  you  say,  Massa  Ben  ?  Fore  God, 
when  I  brought  his  saddlebags  in  de  house,  he  was 
lookin'  a  hundred  ways  at  once,  and  I  couldn't  tell 
whar  he  was  lookin'  neither." 


THE    RESCUE.  31 

"  Well,  Thomas,"  said  Ben,  "  if  ever  he  falls  into 
deep  water,  don't  you  jump  in  and  risk  your  own  lite 
to  pull  him  out." 

"  Why,  Massa  Ben,  who  tell  you  I  ever  jump  in  de 
water  to  pull  anybody  out  ?" 

"  i  was  in  Fairfax  two  years  agone,"  said  Ben,  "  and 
heard  it  a'mosi  albre  you  was  dry.  But  I  know'd  lofg 
afore  that,  that  a  blacK  ir.an  may  have  a  white  soul, 
while  some  white  men  has  souls  as  black  as  a  mink." 
So  saying,  Ben  strode  away  in  trie  dark,  cold 
night  with  the  bold  and  free  step  of  an  American  mount- 
aineer. His  rifle  was  in  his  hand,  his  knife  at  his 
side,  and  his  dogs,  Captain  Rover  and  Young  Kate, 
followed  his  footsteps.  The  lock  of  his  gun  was  cov- 
ered bv  a  kind  of  Jeather  mask  which  eft'eetuallv  keiv 
tne  IOCK  dry,  arm  pnneciec.  me  powae.  .n  .ne  pan  irom 
de\v  or  rain.  Percussion  locks  and  caps  were  not 
then  in  use  ;  and  even  if  they  had  been,  so  steady  was 
his  nervous  arm  and  so  certain  his  aim,  that  he  needed 
not  the  assistance  which  these  recent  inventions  of 
chemical  and  mechanical  science  have  afforded  to  less 
expert  users  of  fire-arms. 

Ben's  path  followed  the  course  of  the  river  up  to  the 
foot  of  the  falls,  where  his  light  canoe  was  moored  be- 
neath the  giant  trunk  of  a  sycamore  which  stood  upon 
the  brink  of  the  river,  and  to  which  it  was  fastened  by 
a  chain  and  padlock.  While  he  is  unlocking  it,  wo 
will  take  the  liberty  of  bringing  the  reader  acquainted 
with  the  circumstance  to  which  Ben  alluded  in  his 
conversation  with  Thomas,  Mr.  Ballengcr's  servant. 

The  kindness  and  consideration  with  which  this 
aged  domestic  was  treated  by  his  master  and  his  chil- 
dren, was  remarked  by  all  who  visited  at  the  house ; 
and  the  humble,  and  active,  and  cheerful  performance 
of  his  duties  by  Thomas,  a  thing  not  so  common  in 
these  modern  days  of  liberty  and  equality — impudence 
and  idleness,  as  it  was  then — also  attracted  attention 
even  at  that  time. 

Thomas  had  saved  his  master's  life  at  the  imminent 
peril  of  his  own.  Mr.  Ballenger  was  attending  to  the 


32  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

landing  of  a  cargo  of  sugar  and  coffee  on  one  of  the 
wharves  of  Alexandria,  in  which  articles  he  was  an 
extensive  wholesale  dealer,  when  he  was  accidentally 
precipitated  into  the  river.  The  tide  was  ebbing,  and 
a  brisk  wind  blowing  down  the  Potomac.  He  had 
never  learned  to  swim,  and  before  he  was  perceived 
he  had  drifted  fifty  yards  below  the  ship.  He  sunk, 
and  although  he  rose  several  times  to  the  surface,  he 
was  unable  to  cry  out  for  assistance.  He  was,  how- 
ever, seen  by  a  sailor,  who  was  instantly  in  a  boat  and 
rowing  in  the  direction  in  which  Mr.  Ballenger  was 
last  seen,  when  his  attention  was  attracted  by  a  loud 
splashing  in  the  water  on  his  right. 

Looking  in  that  direction,  he  was  astonished  to  see 
a  man  rapidly  approaching  on  a  horse,  swimming  to- 
wards the  spot  where  Mr.  Ballenger  was  last  seen  to 
rise,  and  just  below  the  boat.  A  moment  after,  the 
man  was  off  the  horse  and  under  the  water,  while  the 
horse  turned  off,  and  was  swimming  towards  the  shore. 
So  long  did  the  man  remain  under  the  water  and  in- 
visible, that  the  sailor  thought  that  he,  too,  was  lost, 
when  unexpectedly  he  saw  him  emerging.  No  soon- 
er was  his  head  above  the  water  than  he  cried  out, 
"  Save  massa  !  for  God's  sake,  save  my  massa  !"  For- 
tunately, he  rose  so  near  the  boat  that  ihe  sailor  seized 
him  by  the  coat  as  the  tide  was  sweeping  him  past  it, 
and  held  on  till  another  boat,  which  had  been  manned 
and  was  following,  came  to  his  assistance  ;  and  Thom- 
as, and  the  apparently  lifeless  body  of  his  master, 
which  he  had  found,  and,  grasping,  had  brought  up 
with  him,  were  taken  into  the  boat  and  conveyed  to 
the  wharf. 

Most  happily  for  Mr.  Ballenger,  this  attached  and 
faithful  servant  was  riding  a  horse  to  water  when  the 
accident  happened.  He  saw  it,  and  putting  the  horse 
to  his  speed,  had  plunged  into  the  stream  just  in  time 
to  save  his.  master.  On  reaching  the  wharf,  the  usual 
means  for  the  resuscitation  of  drowned  persons  were 
resorted  to,  and  Thomas  had  the  great  satisfaction  of 
seeing  his  master  restored  to  life. 


THE    RESCUE.  33 

The  citizens  of  the  town  justly  appreciated  this  no- 
ble action.  They  treated  old  Uncle  Tom  with  great 
kindness  and  respect.  His  master  offered  him  his 
freedom  and  an  annuity  of  two  hundred  dollars.  Uncle 
Tom  positively  refused  both.  He  said  he  was  as  free 
as  he  wished  to  be  ;  that  he  would  rather  be  his  mas- 
ter's slave  than  a  free  nigger  'mong  white  folks,  for  a 
free  nigger  ain't  half  so  well  off  as  them  that's  got  a 
good  muster. 

"  Look  at  them  poor  devils  down  town — any  real 
gentleman's  servants  is  fur  before  them — lives  better, 
is  more  'spectabul-like.  And  as  for  money,  de  little 
dat  I  wants  is  sure  to  cum.  I  ain't  afeard  of  wanting 
anything  in  this  mortal  world  so  long  as  ole  Master 
and  young  Master  Will  and  Miss  Mattie  is  above 
ground.  Why,  no  longer  than  yistidday,  I  pulled  off 
my  hat  to  Mass  Will,  and  says  I, '  You  got  any  change 
to  spar,  massa  ?'  Widout  even  axin'  me  what  for,  he  jist 
pulled  out  his  puss,  and  handin'  me  a  dollar,  says  he, 
'  Uncle  Tom,  that's  all  I  can  spare  you  for  de  present 
time — I'm  going  to  the  party,  you  know,  to-night.' 
Shugh !  dis  black  child  ain't  a  fool.  He  ain't  gwine 
to  give  up  his  family  for  freedom,  nor  money,  nor  nuth- 
in'  else.  Dinah,  my  ole  'oman,  is  dead,  and  ole  miss- 
us is  dead,  and'  gone  to  heaben,  I'm  sure  ;  and  if  I 
should  take  sick  wid  de  rhumatis  agin,  who's  gwine  to 
nuss  me  like  Miss  Mattie  did  last  winter,  jist  as  tender 
as  ole  missus  herself?  Miss  Mattie  is  missus  now, 
an'  de  gemman  dat  gits  her  gits  me  and  old  master 
too.  He  must  take  de  whole  lot,  dat  he  must.  I  ain't 
gwine  to  turn  myself  out  on  house  an'  home  caze  ole 
master  can't  swim,  an'  I  help  to  pull  him  out  on  de  wa- 
ter when  he  happen  to  fall  in.  Who  gwine  set  de 
sideboard  to  rights  and  dribe  the  carridge  ?  We  is 
born  to  wuck  anyhow,  black  and  white." 

Such  were  Thomas's  feelings,  and  such  his  reason- 
ing ;  and  they  are  not  confined  to  him.  They  equally 
belong,  or  did  belong,  to  a  large  portion  of  the  slaves  of 
the  Southern  States,  till  misguided,  reckless  fanatics 
had  imbued  some  of  them  with  different  feelings,  and 
2 


34  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

taught  them  to  reason  erroneously,  and  to  believe  that 
kindly-treated  slaves  are  in  a  worse  condition  than 
harder-labouring,  care-consumed  white  free  labourers. 

Abstract  truth  is  not  of  universal  application.  Regard 
must  be  had,  and  is  had,  by  all  wise,  and  patriotic,  and 
benevolent  men,  to  the  existing  state  of  things,  when- 
ever they  attempt  to  apply  it  for  the  amelioration  of 
the  condition  of  the  human  race,  or  any  portion  of 
them. 

Uncle  Tom  acted  out  his  principles.  He  remained 
•w.lth  his  master  in  prosperity  and  in  adversity,  and  had 
driven  the  carriage  which  conveyed  him  and  his  two 
children  in  their  fallen  fortune  to  the  banks  of  the 
Kanawha. 

Ben  Bramble  was  thinking  of  these  circumstances 
as  he  pursued  his  lonely  way  to  his  canoe,  and  he  was 
contrasting  in  his  mind  the  conduct  of  Thomas  with 
vague  conjectures  of  the  design  of  Isaac  Forster's  visit 
to  Mr.  Ballenger.  In  a  few  moments  his  light  bark 
shot  across  the  current  of  the  river,  and  passing  up  a 
ravine  along  the  course  of  a  mountain  streamlet  which 
winds  around  the  western  base  of  Jenkins's  Mountain 
(Cotton  Hill),  Ben  soon  reached  his  humble  cabin,  and 
forgot  in  sweet  repose  the  heroism  of  Thomas  arid  the 
supposed  designs  of  Isaac  Forster. 


CHAPTER  V. 

NOT  so  did  either  Isaac  Forster  or  Mr.  Ballenger 
spend  that  night.  After  retiring  to  their  respective 
chambers,  they  went  to  bed,  but  not  to  sleep.  The 
bitter  thoughts  of  better  days,  of  disappointed  hopes, 
of  ruined  fortune,  and  decaying  health  of  his  beloved 
children,  deprived  of  their  mother,  and  separated  from 
the  scenes  and  society  in  which  they  had  been  raised 
and  accustomed  to  move,  kept  Mr.  Ballenger  awake, 


THE    RESCUE.  35 

feverish  and  restless  on  his  bed.  He  never  thought 
of  Isaac  Forster,  of  whom  he  knew  nothing,  and  mere- 
ly supposed  that  he  was  a  tax-gatherer  or  commission- 
er of  the  revenue. 

Mr.  Ballenger  had  been  a  prosperous  merchant,  and 
had  indulged  fur  his  children  all  the  expectations 
which  the  equal  and  elevating  laws  of  the  United 
States  have  a  tendency  to  excite,  to  cherish,  and  to 
gratify.  His  intellectual  powers,  his  taste  and  feelings, 
had  been  cultivated,  refined,  and  rendered  acute  by  an 
education  of  the  first  order  in  America,  superintended 
and  directed  by  his  father,  an  able  lawyer  and  a  sol- 
dier. His  mother,  who  was  the  daughter  of  a  British 
officer,  came  to  this  country  to  nurse  her  father,  who 
was  dangerously  wounded  at  Braddoek^s  defeat,  and 
after  lingering  many  months,  died  in  this  country.  She 
was  a  most  accomplished  lady,  married  Captain  Bal- 
lenger, and  having  been  brought  up  and  educated  after 
the  fashion  of  the  most  intelligent  class  in  the  father- 
land, had  inspired  her  only  son,  of  whom  we  are  speak- 
ing, with  all  her  noble  sentiments,  and  not  a  little  of 
her  national  and  family  pride. 

In  order  to  a  just  appreciation  of  his  feelings,  it  is 
necessary  also  to  inform  the  reader  that,  in  the  prose- 
cution of  his  commercial  business,  Mr.  Ballenger  had 
visited  France  and  England,  and  had  spent  several 
months  with  his  maternal  relations  at  their  beautiful 
country-seats  near  Crucis  Abbey,  in  Derbyshire.  All 
these  concurring  causes  had  formed  a  character  but  ill 
prepared  to  descend  into  the  vale  of  obscurity,  and  to 
contend  with  the  privations  of  poverty  without  bitter- 
ness of  spirit. 

It  is  not  strange,  therefore,  that,  although  not  entire- 
ly destitute,  Mr.  Ballenger,  in  his  retreat  on  the  Ka- 
nawha,  felt  keenly  the  change  of  his  condition,  and 
that  anguish  which  a  fond  and  proud  parent  cannot  re- 
pn  .-..-•  when  he  foresees  that  his  children,  raised  in  the 
lap  of  luxury  and  ease,  and  educated  for  high  places 
in  society,  will  be  forced  to  descend  to  the  level  of  the 
humbler  classes,  and  not  onlv  be  deprived  of  those  ad- 


86  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

ventitious  sources  of  enjoyment  which  are  accessible 
only  to  the  wealthy  and  well  educated,  but  repine, 
waste  away,  and  sink  into  despondency,  if  not  into 
vice,  from  the  force  of  vain  regrets  or  ill-directed  ef- 
forts to  drive  them  off. 

These  melancholy  forebodings  would  come  into 
strong  contrast  with  his  long-cherished  anticipations, 
rationally  entertained  a  short  time  before,  of  seeing 
his  daughter  move  in  the  highest  circle  of  fashion,  the 
object  of  admiration,  the  jewel  of  price,  and  the  cen 
tre  of  attraction  to  the  chivalry  of  the  country  ;  and  his 
son,  well  educated,  useful,  and  popular,  winning  hi& 
way,  by  well-directed  efforts,  to  the  highest  offices 
of  the  government.  Such  were  the  sleep-dispelling 
thoughts  of  Mr.  Ballenger. 

Isaac  Forster  was  kept  awake  by  cogitations  of  a 
very  different  kind.  In  order  to  forestall  all  conjec- 
tures in  regard  to  this  gentleman,  and  to  prevent  any 
mischiefs  that  frolicsome  little  flirt,  imagination,  might 
produce,  the  reader  «hall  at  once  be  told  who  he  was. 
What  he  was  his  acts  will  best  declare. 

Isaac  Forster  was  a  widower,  without  children, 
about  forty  years  of  age,  in  search  of  a  wife,  more 
land  and  more  money,  than  the  ample  amount  of  both 
which  he  already  possessed.  A  very  common  char- 
acter, this  :  yet  he  was  no  common  man.  He  had 
heard  of  the  arrival  and  settlement  of  Mr.  Ballenger 
on  the  Kanawha,  quite  near  his  own  residence ;  that 
he  had  a  very  pretty  daughter,  and  a  son,  who  would 
be  his  only  heirs  ;  and  although  Mr.  Ballenger  was  a 
broken  merchant,  Isaac  had  an  impression,  from  some 
facts  known  to  himself,  that  the  wreck  of  this  gentle- 
man's fortune  might  be  more  valuable  than  a  gold- 
freighted  Acapulco  ship.  The  son  of  Mr.  Ballenger, 
he  had  heard,  was  in  delicate  health.  But  this  was 
all  a  mistake.  Isaac  thought  that  the  change  of  cli- 
mate from  the  eastern  to  the  western  side  of  the  mount- 
ains might  render  Miss  Ballenger  her  father's  only 
heir,  or  some  accident  might  occur  to  cause  that  event : 
such  as  exposure  at  pleasure-parties,  the  upsetting  of 


THE    RESCUE.  8* 

a  boat  above  the  falls,  the  accidental  j,*ing  off  of  a 
rifle,  or  some  poisonous  herb  gathered  thnxigii  mistake 
for  a  salad  to  be  served  up  to  him  on  nis  reui.n,  altei 
the  usual  dinner  hour,  from  some  hunting  or  fishing 
excursion. 

Isaac  was  an  excellent  accountant,  and  mought  he 
understood  the  calculation  of  probabilities  and  chances 
He  had  removed  from  Eastern  Virginia  some  years 
ago,  and  since  his  settlement  in  the  West,  had  acteq 
as  land-agent,  land-jobber,  surveyor,  and  tax-payer  for 
many  gentlemen  in  Virginia  arid  Maryland  as  well  as 
for  himself.  He  was,  perhaps,  the  best  penman  in  tiie 
United  States ;  he  could  write  and  imitate  every  son 
of  chirography,  and  very  few  persons  could  distinguish 
their  own  handwriting  from  Isaac's  imitation.  He  had 
been  brought  up  in  a  clerk's  office,  and  thought  him- 
self a  lawyer,  as  many  other  persons  do  from  a  mere 
acquaintance  with  the  forms  of  law.  He  had  a  very 
extensive  courthouse-green  and  clerk's. office  acquaint- 
ance with  the  inhabitants  of  Fauquier,  Fairfax,  Prince 
William,  and  Stafford  counties,  and  he  really  knew,  or 
seemed  to  know,  the  person,  business,  and  pecuniary 
circumstances  of  every  man  of  any  note  in  the  West. 
His  reputation  for  accurate,  punctual,  industrious,  hon- 
est business  habits  caused  him  to  be  much  employed 
and  full  of  business. 

He  was  the  land-agent  of  more  persons  in  the  Old 
Dominion  than  any  other  man  living  west  of  the  mount- 
ains. Among  those  who  employed  him  were  the 
houses  of  Smith  and  Bird,  Buchanan  and  Alexander, 
of  Alexandria.  He  had  a  power  of  attorney  from 
them  as  their  agent  to  pay  taxes,  form  settlements, 
and  sell  very  extensive  tracts  of  land  in  Western  Vir- 
ginia, Kentucky,  the  Western  Territory,  and  New- 
York.  This  power  of  attorney  gave  him  almost  un- 
limited action  in  regard  te  the  promotion  of  the  inter- 
ests and  the  security  of  the  rights  of  his  employers, 
all  his  acts  for  their  benefit,  done  in  good  faith,  and  in 
conformity  with  the  laws  of  the  United  States  and  of 
the  states  in  which  the  lands  lay,  being  declared  valid, 


88  NEW   HOPE  J    OR, 

and  of  as  much  force  and  effect  as  if  done  by  the  par- 
ties themselves.  But  these  lands  were  thought  to  be 
of  very  little  value  by  the  rich  merchants  to  whom 
they  belonged ;  for  they  had  been  received  by  them 
as  their  share  in  the  dividend  of  the  fragments  of  an 
extensive  mercantile  establishment  in  London,  which, 
at  the  time  of  its  failure,  was  largely  indebted  to  them 
on  account  of  tobacco  shipped  to  them  from  Virginia. 
The  London  creditors,  in  the  division  of  the  scanty 
spoils,  preferred  doubtful  debts  at  home  to  wild  lands 
in  America,  and  they  therefore  saddled  the  American 
creditors  with  them.  London  surveys  was  the  popular 
name  in  Virginia  for  large  mountainous,  worthless 
tracts  of  land,  intended  originally  for  speculation  in 
Europe.  One  of  this  kind  in  the  county  of  Kanawha 
covered  one  hundred  and  twenty  thousand  acres,  not 
worth,  in  1810,  three  cents  per  acre.  The  merchants 
of  Alexandria,  therefore,  received  the  land  papers 
rather  as  a  memento  of  the  loss  they  had  sustained 
than  as  a  valuable  consideration  for  their  tobacco. 
They  thought,  too,  they  might  be  an  evidence  of  the 
desire  of  Mr.  Williamson,  a  land-agent  of  foreigners 
in  New-York,  to  have  some  wealthy  persons  in  Amer- 
ica interested  in  the  settlement  of  large  tracts  of  land, 
or  in  their  profitable  sale,  and  a  partner  in  the  pay- 
ment of  taxes  on  them,  which,  as  the  country  became 
settled,  he  knew  would  bacome,  if  not  an  onerous,  at 
least  a  never-forgotten  or  avoidable  expense  to  large 
landholders  in  America. 

Just  before  Isaac  Forster's  removal  to  the  West, 
these  merchants  had  been  annoyed  by  many  badly- 
written  letters,  postage  not  paid,  inquiring  if  they 
would  sell,  and  at  what  price,  some  five  hundred  or  a 
thousand  acres  of  these  lands,  stated  to  be  worth  a 
cent  an  acre,  and  hardly  that  except  to  squatters  for 
hunting,  &c.,  &c.  They  answered  but  few  of  these 
epistles,  for  some  they  could  not  read  ;  others  were 
on  matters  so  small  that  the  mere  expense  of  sale  and 
transfer  would  actually  have  exceeded  the  proceeds  of 
the  sales,  and  even  these  were  proposed  to  be  paid  in 


THE    RESCUE.  39 

skins,  truck,  or  other  trade ;  so  they  were  much  pleased 
when  honest  Isaac  offered  to  look  after  these  l?nds, 
for  such  was  his  expression,  and  they  deemed  it  a  re- 
lief from  a  teasing  and  unprofitable  annoyance.  When 
subsequently,  he  voluntarily  offered  to  pay  the  taxes 
and  give  a  forty-dollar  horse  annually  as  a  considera 
tion  for  the  rent  of  the  whole  of  these  lands  for  thr 
term  of  the  ensuing  five  years,  in  closing  with  hir 
proposition  they  thought  they  were  driving  an  excel- 
lent bargain.  Before  Isaac  made  this  proposition,  ho 
had  paid  a  six  months'  visit  to  the  West.  At  the  end 
of  the  said  five  years  he  renewed  his  lease  for  five 
years  more,  stating,  in  his  letter,  that,  by  great  laboi  * , 
he  had  made  some  settlements,  had  turned  some  squ?» 
ters  into  tenants,  and  hoped,  if  he  should  have  goo-1 
luck,  to  see,  by  the  end  of  his  last  lease,  his  owv 
again  in  the  bad  bargain  which  he  had  at  first  mad  < 
with  his  good  friends  in  Alexandria. 

On  his  removal  to  the  West,  Isaac  had  carried  with 
him  several  thousand  dollars,  and  by  the  judicious  use 
of  these,  and  by  active  industry,  regular  business  hab- 
its, and  his  ability  to  bear  great  fatigue,  he  had  become 
a  great  man  in  the  West  in  the  estimation  of  many 
others  as  well  as  in  his  own.  This  was  apparent  in 
his  free  and  easy  manners  everywhere,  and  with  every 
respectable  person.  So  constantly  was  he  travelling 
on  business,  that  it  was  impossible  to  tell  where  he  might 
be  found,  except  when  he  had  made  an  appointment: 
then  and  there  you  would  surely  find  him  in  time  at  the 
place,  in  spite  of  storm,  tempest,  fire,  or  water.  He  took 
pride  in  this  thing,  and  found  it  productive  of  reputation 
and  money.  At  other  times,  when  everybody  thought 
Isaac  was  at  home,  he  was  at  Louisville,  Pittsburgh, 
New-York,  New-Orleans,  or  where  nobody  knew.  The 
natives  at  first  stared  and  wondered,  but  they  got  used  to 
it,  and  thought  no  more  of  his  absence  or  of  the  distance 
he  might  be  from  home  than  if  he  had  been  a  comet. 
It  was  during  one  of  these  trips  from  home  that  Mr. 
Ballenger  arrived  with  his  family  on  the  Kanawha ; 
and  on  Isaac's  return  to  his  own  house,  he  found  the 


40  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

following  letter  on  his  table,  which  had  been  left  du- 
ring his  absence. 

'"  To  Mr.  Isaac  Forster,  below  Lewisburg,  on  the  Great 
Kanawha. 

"Alexandria,  August  20th,  '98. 

"  DR.  ZACK, 

"  Blown  sky-high,  by  jimminy  !  Smith  and  Bird, 
Buchanan  and  Alexander,  broke  all  to  smash.  Lands 
all,  every  acre  of  them,  transferred  to  Ned  Ballenger 
(don't  believe  you  know  him — that's  strange  !)  by  bona- 
fide  deeds  recorded,  to  indemnify  him  for  some  sixty 
thousand  dollars  which  the  fool  paid  as  their  endorser. 
Thinks  himself  a  ruined  man — has  moved  to  Kanawha. 
This  comes  in  haste  before  him,  to  give  you  an  item 
to  keep  dark  and  lay  low.  Has  a  son — devilish  keen 
fellow,  they  say.  You  must  take  care  of  him  and  a 
daughter.  'Twould  be  well  to  marry  her,  friend  Isaac  : 
easy  way  to  settle  things,  specially  if  Ballenger  won't 
renew  your  lease  and  power  of  attorney.  Before  he 
smells  a  rat,  you  must  be  wide  awake.  But  I  needn't 
advise  you,  who  can  manage,  I  guess,  a  dozen  of  Ned 
Ballenger.  Hope  this  will  come  to  hand  in  time  to 
prevent  his  falling  into  worse  hands.  Son  Sam  will 
be  out  next  summer,  or  early  in  the  fall,  with  the  pa- 
pers, &c.,  &c.,  you  will  want  in  other  cases.  He 
knows  nothing  about  them  or  any  of  our  business  trans- 
actions, and  ought  not.  He's  too  thoughtless  a  chap. 
Tin  won't  do  here.  Look  out.  Thafs  the  time  of  day. 
The  western  counties  and  the  district  of  Kentuck  is  the 
hunting-ground.  Horses  will  do  here. 

"  Yours  in  the  bonds, 

" JONES  CARTER. 

"  P.S.  Letter  of  introduction  enclosed.         J.  C." 

Some  parts  of  this  letter  are  plain  and  comprehensi- 
ble enough ;  others  are  obscure  and  dark  to  us.  On 
its  reception,  much  later  than  the  writer  intended,  in 
consequence  of  Mr.  Forster's  absence  from  home,  and 
after  the  arrival  of  Mr.  Ballenger  at  his  new  home, 
Isaac  set  off  instantly  for  the  house  of  that  gentleman. 


THE    RESCUE.  41 

and  arrived  there,  as  we  have  seen,  on  a  cold  evening 
in  December.  The  importance  he  attached  to  the 
contents  of  this  letter  m;iy  be  inferred  from  the  fact 
that,  although  he  had  ridden  nearly  fifty  miles  during 
the  day,  yet  in  ten  minutes  after  reading  the  letter,  not- 
withstanding he  was  weary  and  hungry,  and  it  was 
cold  and  dark,  he  was  on  the  road  to  Mr.  Ballenger's. 
The  lands  leased  to  Isaac  Forster,  now  the  proper- 
ty of  Mr.  Ballenger,  were  not  London  surveys,  at  least 
the  greater  part  of  them  were  not,  as  the  merchants 
supposed  when  they  leased  them  to  Isaac.  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger did  not  know  even  of  the  existence  of  thesa 
lands,  much  less  of  any  value  they  might  possess, 
when  he  unexpectedly  received  the  deeds  for  them, 
together  with  the  mournful  news  of  the  utter  failure  of 
the  merchants  for  whom  he  had  paid  so  much  money. 
Their  really  great  value  was  known  only  to  Isaac  and 
his  confidential  allies,  and  to  persons  who  thought  him 
their  owner.  When  Isaac  received  his  last  lease,  and 
was  paying  annually  a  forty-dollar  horse  and  the  taxes 
as  rent  for  them,  they  were  worth  at  least  half  a 
million  of  dollars.  And  he  was  receiving  from  the 
"  squatters  that  he  had  turned  into  tenants"  a  hand- 
some revenue  in  money,  horses,  grain,  skins,  &c. 
Besides  this,  he  was  selling  odd  ends,  and  slips,  and 
offsets,  the  surplusage  of  large  tracts  which  he  had 
re-surveyed ;  for  then  old  surveys  were  very  loost  ly 
made,  the  corners  being  on  this  "  hill  side"  on  "  a 
prong  of  the  branch,"  "seven  hundred  poles  lower 
down,"  &c.,  containing  often  hundreds  of  acres  more 
than  were  called  for  in  the  patent.  Nobody  knows 
how  much  Isaac  was  realizing  from  them;  and  Mr. 
Ballenger  never  dreamed  that  they  could  be  worth  a 
fiftieth  part  of  the  $60,000  which  he  had  lost  by  those 
who  had  conveyed  them  to  him.  In  their  letters  cov- 
ering the  conveyances  to  him,  and  informing  him  that 
the  original  patents,  deeds,  and  other  papers  were  in 
the  hands  of  their  agent  in  the  West,  not  even  the  name 
of  the  agent  was  mentioned  by  the  merchants.  They 
2* 


42  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

took  it  for  granted,  \ve  suppose,  that  everybody  knew 
that  honest  Isaac  Forster  was  the  man. 

Parts  of  many  tracts  sold  by  Mr.  Forster,  and  not 
paid  for,  were  reconveyed  to  Isaac  himself  on  his  as- 
sumption of  the  payments  of  the  very  small  sums  for 
which  they  had  been  sold  by  him  as  agent.  Who  will 
blame  him  for  making  a  good  bargain,  in  the  first  in- 
stance, by  taking  advantage  of  the  ignorance  of  the 
merchants  ?  or  for  making  it  better  by  the  means  men- 
tioned ?  Are  not  such  the  practices  of  business  men 
at  this  time,  in  this  age  of  enlightened  morality  ?  Are 
not  half  the  commercial  speculations  of  the  world  found- 
ed on  the  rise  and  fall  of  commodities  or  stocks,  which 
happen  to  be  known  to  the  fortunate  (yes,  that's  the 
expression)  purchaser  or  seller,  and  unknown  to  the 
other  party  ?  Do  merchants,  when  privately  informed 
of  a  sudden  rise  in  the  price  of  cotton,  flour,  or  tobac- 
co, inform  those  of  whom  they  are  in  such  a  hurry  to 
buy,  of  the  rise  before  they  purchase  ?  Who  will  not 
buy  a  horse  or  a  house,  if  an  opportunity  offers,  for  less 
than  prime  cost — less  than  he  believes  the  property  to 
be  worth  ?  If  any  such  there  be,  they  are  few  and  far 
between  among  what  are  called  thriving,  prudent  busi- 
ness men.  Let  such  throw  the  first  stone  at  Isaac 
Forster.  How  different  things  look  in  a  book  and  in 
life — in  others  and  in  ourselves  ! 

To  return  to  the  lands  :  they  covered  large  portions 
of  what  are  now  Clarke  and  Bourbon  counties,  in  Ken- 
tucky, and  Hamilton,  in  Ohio  ;  a  very  large  tract  near 
Seneca  Lake,  in  New-York  ;  another  on  Mad  River, 
in  Ohio ;  another  in  Virginia,  on  the  Ohio,  below  the 
mouth  of  the  Kanawha  ;  one,  though  not  the  largest, 
on  Beargrass  Creek,  which  empties  into  the  Ohio  on 
the  Kentucky  side,  just  above  the  falls  ;  one  below  the 
falls  and  above  the  mouth  of  Salt  River ;  and  the  last 
and  worst,  in  the  Loop,  in  Kanawha  county,  not  far 
from  the  residence  of  Mr.  Ballenger.  Men  of  busi- 
«ess  will  know  that  the  power  of  attorney  to  Mr.  For- 
ster was  superseded  and  virtually  revoked  by  the  trans- 
fer of  the  lands  to  Mr.  Ballenger,  and  in  the  course  of 


THE    EESCUE.  43 

the  next  year  Isaac's  lease  would  expire.  He  there- 
fore knew  that  no  time  was  to  be  lost  in  coming  to 
some  understanding,  and  in  making  some  comfortable 
arrangement  with  Mr.  Ballenger,  the  present  owner  of 
the  lauds.  Our  readers  are  now  acquainted  with  the 
cause  of  his  visit  to  New  Hope. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

INFOKMED  of  the  facts  detailed  in  the  last  chapter, 
our  readers  will  be  at  no  loss  to  conjecture  the 
nature  of  the  thoughts  that  accompanied  Mr.  For- 
ster  to  his  chamber  at  New  Hope,  and  which  kept 
him  awake — turning  and  twisting  on  his  bed.  No 
such  thing.  He  neither  turned  nor  twisted,  but 
lay  still,  and  thought  as  calmly  and  deliberately  as 
any  other  really  great  rnan  who  is  arranging  in  his 
mind  the  details  of  a  plan  of  operation  in  some 
weighty  matter,  after  he  has  conceived  the  plan 
which  he  intends  to  execute.  True,  he  was  awake 
— wide  awake — and  deeply  engaged  in  thoughts 
only  to  be  known  from  their  results,  for  Isaac  had 
thoughts  which  he  never  told. 

The  next  morning,  after  breakfast — perhaps  some 
of  our  gentle  readers  may  wish  to  know  of  what 
the  matutinal  meal  consisted  at  that  day  in  the 
West.  Well,  we  are  very  accommodating  in  ac- 
companying our  fair  friends  to  a  breakfast-table, 
and,  in  order  to  gratify  their  laudable  curiosity,  we 
will  give  the  bill  of  fare  at  Mr.  Ballenger's  for  that 
morning  only  ;  and  be  it  known  that  it  was  consid- 
ered very  abundant  and  of  great  variety  for  the 
time  and  country  :  indeed,  Mr.  Forster  observed 
to  .Miss  Ballenger,  who  presided  at  the  table,  that 
the  fare  was  like  the  Old  Virginia  ladies  them- 
selves, "first  rate  ;"  and  that  expression  conveyed 


44  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

all  that  could  be  said  on  the  subject  by  a  land- 
agent  ;  for  land  in  the  West  was  classed  as  first, 
second,  third,  and  fourth  rate,  and  to  say  that  any- 
thing was  first  rate  made  it  equal  in  value  to  the 
most  valuable  of  all  earthly  things,  to  wit,  the  rich- 
est land  in  the  West,  the  most  coveted  and  prized 
of  all  possessions.  A  large  dish  of  fried  homony, 
brown  and  crisp,  and  smoking  hot,  graced  the  low- 
er end  of  the  table.  It  was  flanked  on  the  one  side 
by  a  plate  of  broiled  venison,  and  on  the  other  by 
one  of  fried  bacon.  Higher  up,  on  one  side,  was  a 
bowl  of  milk,  and  opposite  to  it  a  deep  dish  of  corn- 
meal  mush.  A  plate  of  butter,  and  one  of  brown 
hoecakes  and  corn  pones,  were  to  the  right  and  left 
of  Miss  Ballenger,  and  immediately  before  her  was 
a  porringer  of  squirrel  broth. 

Such  were  the  viands  :  and  I  blush  to  say  it, 
but  the  truth  must  be  told  in  this  veritable  narra- 
tive, although  I  fear  it  will  destroy  all  the  romance 
which  might  be  thrown  around  our  heroine — Miss 
Matilda  Ballenger  not  only  helped  others  to  squir- 
rel broth  for  breakfast,  but  ate  it  herself!  After 
this,  I  am  sure  none  of  my  fair  female  readers  will 
ever  doubt  my  truth  or  candour.  They  will  have 
had  the  best  reason  to  know  that  I  conceal  nothing, 
naught  extenuate,  even  when  such  important  inter- 
ests are  at  stake  ;  and  the  more  especially  will 
they  credit  me  for  strict  veracity,  recollecting,  as 
they  no  doubt  do,  where  and  how  Miss  Ballenger 
was  born  and  brought  up.  At  Alexandria  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  tea,  coffee,  French  rolls,  and 
English  biscuit  for  breakfast.  To  be  sure,  just  a 
morsel  of  salt  fish,  potted  lobster,  or  soft  crab,  in 
their  season,  may  have  given  a  relish  to  them  ;  or, 
if  she  had  been  to  a  party  the  night  before,  these 
may  have  been  preceded  by  a  very  small  cup  of 
cream-chocolate,  taken  before  breakfast  in  her 
chamber. 

After  breakfast  at  New  Hope,  to  which  all  did 
ample  justice  except  Mr.  Ballenger,  whose  ill  health 


THE    UESCUE.  45 

restricted  him  to  milk  and  mush,  he  and  Mr.  For- 
ster  retired  to  the  sitting-room,  when  the  latter 
asked  for  his  saddlebags,  and,  taking  out  a  bundle 
of  papers,  drew  forth  and  presented  to  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger  a  letter  of  introduction.  After  reading  the  let- 
.ter,  Mr.  Ballenger  said, 

"  I  owe  you  an  apology,  Mr  Forster,  for  not  rec- 
ognising you  last  evening  as  the  late  attorney  and 
tenant  of  my  friends  in  Alexandria,  who  have  con- 
veyed to  me  their  Western  lands.  But  no  name 
was  mentioned  in  their  letter,  from  the  presump- 
tion on  their  part,  1  suppose,  that  I  had  the  pleas- 
ure of  knowing  you  personally." 

"No  doubt,"  replied  Isaac,  "as  I  am  pretty  well 
known  there  and  here.  But  that's  of  no  conse- 
quence now,  sir,  as  I  hope  we  shall  soon  be  better 
acquainted,  Mr.  Ballenger.  Those  under  whom 
you  claim  and  hold  have  had  my  services  many 
years  for  little  or  nothing,  and  the  lands  for  which 
1  have  been  paying  to  them  a  valuable  horse  and 
the  taxes  yearly  are  London  surveys,  as  perhaps 
you  know." 

"I  have  been  informed  that  such  is  their  charac- 
ter, or,  at  least,  that  such  was  the  impression  of 
their  former  owners.  I  know  nothing  of  them  my- 
self; I  have  very  lately,  as  you  are  no  doubt  in- 
formed, Mr.  Forster,  received  deeds  for  them.  But 
a  regard  for  rny  interests  will  induce  rne  to  take 
measures  to  ascertain  their  present  and  prospective 
value  so  soon  as  my  health  will  permit.  Your 
lease,  I  understand,  expires  in  October  next,  and 
the  rent  for  the  present  year  is  to  be  paid  to  my- 
self." 

"  Unless,"  said  Forster,  "  there  is  some  provis- 
ion to  the  contrary." 

"  There  is  none,"  replied  Mr.  Ballenger  ;  "  and 
as  it  is  well  for  gentlemen,  in  all  business  matters, 
to  understand  each  other  perfectly,  you  will  excuse 
me  for  saying  there  was  some  slight  inaccuracy 
in  your  designation  of  the  nature  of  my  title  to 


46  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

those  lands.  I  do  not  hold  them  under  Smith  and 
Bird,  Buchanan  and  Alexander,  hut  from  them. 
The  conveyance  to  me  is  absolute,  unconditional, 
and  in  fee-simple,  for  and  in  consideration  of  sixty 
thousand  dollars  which  I  have  actually  paid  for 
them." 

"Sixty  thousand  dollars!"  said  Mr.  Forster  ; 
"  that  is  too  bad.  You'll  never,  I  fear,  sir,  see 
the  hundredth  part  of  that  sum  for  them.  But  we 
must  make  the  best  of  it,  sir.  I  might,  as  your 
agent,  knowing  the  lands  and  the  people  in  this 
country,  lighten  your  loss  some  little,  to  be  sure. 
With  longer  time,  and  a  renewal  of  my  lease  for 
five,  or,  rather,  ten  years,  something  might  be  done 
by  myself;  but,  under  ordinary  management,  they 
will  yield  nothing  for  many  years,  if  ever." 

"Well,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "I  must  make  the 
best  of  it,  as  you  say,  Mr.  Forster.  You  are  aware, 
sir,  that  the  power  of  attorney  to  you  was  render- 
ed null  and  void  by  the  transfer  of  the  lands  to  rne, 
and  that  you  are  bound  in  law  to  make  not  only  a 
return  of  all  the  papers,  and  a  report  of  all  transac- 
tions by  yourself  as  attorney,  but,  as  my  tenant 
now,  attornment  to  me,  the  present  landlord." 

"  Oh,  certainly,  Mr.  Ballenger  ;  all  that  the  law 
requires,  in  good  time,  sir.  But  I  have  called  at 
this  time,  Mr.  Ballenger,  merely  to  give  you  an 
opportunity  to  renew  the  power  of  attorney,  which 
your  own  interest  requires ;  and  it  is  only  to  pro- 
mote the  welfare  of  an  old  Virginian  that  I  would 
now  again  undertake  so  troublesome  and  unprofita- 
ble an  agency.  I  thought,  too,  that  you  might 
wish  me  to  renew  my  lease,  if  we  can  agree  on  the 
terms.  They  were  high,  I  know,  and  the  whole 
business  attended  with  more  labour  than  profit  ; 
but  as  it  is  in  the  line  of  my  business,  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger, and  keeps  me  moving  about,  I  suppose  I  must 
consent  to  undertake  both.  There  are  few  per- 
sons, sir,  in  the  West  able  to  attend  to  their  own 
affairs,  as  you,  I  hope,  will  soon  be,  for  whom  I 


THE    RESCUE.  47 

would  do  so  much.  We  must  help  one  another 
when  our  friends  need  it,  and  are  in  difficulties,  out 
of  which  we  only  can  see  a  chance  of  drawing  them. 
It  is  our  duty  to  use  our  knowledge  and  experi- 
ence, in  matters  in  which  we  are  better  versed  than 
our  friends,  for  their  benefit  and  advantage." 

"  True — very  true,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger  :  "  as  I 
am  in  the  habit,  Mr.  Forster,  of  transacting  all  mat- 
ters of  business  in  writing,  will  you  do  me  the  fa- 
vour to  make  your  proposals  in  that  form!  There 
are  pens,  ink,  and  paper  on  the  table  near  you." 

Isaac's  face  lighted  up,  and  his  gray  eyes  twink- 
led with  pleasure  as  he  turned  his  chair  round  to 
the  table.  Nothing  gratified  him  more  than  to  dis- 
play his  penmanship.  It  flattered  his  vanity  in  a 
point  on  which  he  piqued  himself.  The  subject, 
too — he  imagined  himself  on  the  point  of  accom- 
plishing at  once  his  cherished  designs,  and  of  do- 
ing the  thing,  too,  at  the  request  of  another.  The 
bird,  thought  he,  has  fluttered  up  to  the  very  mouth 
of  the  charmer  :  I  have  only  to  open  it,  and  in  he 
will  pop.  In  the  most  beautiful,  clerk-like  hand, 
Isaac  dashed  off*  and  presented  to  Mr.  Ballenger  the 
following  proposals : 

"  I  propose  to  receive  a  full  power  of  attorney 
from  Edward  Ballenger,  Esq.,  of  Kanawha  county, 
Virginia,  to  transact  all  business  in  relation  to  the 
lands  to  him  conveyed  by  Smith  and  Bird,  Buchan- 
an and  Alexander,  for  the  consideration  of  five  per 
cent,  on  all  sales,  transfers,  rents,  and  other  delini- 
tive  arrangements  of  the  same,  or  any  part  or  parts 
thereof,  effected  by  me  as  his  agent.  And  I  farther 
propose  to  renew  my  lease  of  the  same  lands,  on 

the  terms  of  the  former  lease,  for  the  term  of 

years  after  the  15th  of  October  next,  when  my 
present  term,  derived  from  the  former  owners,  will 
expire.  All  sales  or  transfers  made  by  me  to  take 
effect,  as  to  actual  possession,  on  the  expiration  of 

the  said years.  In  witness  whereof,  I  have 

this  day,  the  first  of  December,  1798.  at  the  house 


48  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

of  the  said  Edward  Ballenger,  Esq.,  on  the  Kanaw- 
ha  River,  set  my  hand  and  affixed  my  seal. 

,  "  ISAAC  FORSTER."     [SEAL.] 

"For  how  many  years  shall  I  fill  up  the  term  1" 
said  Isaac,  raising  the  paper  from  the  table. 

"It  matters  not,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger:  "I  think 
you  proposed  ten  or  twenty." 

"Very  well,"  said  Isaac,  rapidly  replacing  the 
paper  on  the  table,  arid  inserting  twenty  in  the  blank 
which  he  had  left;  and  handing  the  paper  to  Mr. 
Ballenger,  he  added,  "  You  will  find  it  all  right,  sir, 
and  in  due  form,  and  quite  satisfactory,  I  hope." 

Mr.  Ballenger  took  the  paper,  read  it  over  care- 
fully, folded  it  up,  and  put  it  into  his  pocket,  re- 
marking to  Mr.  Forster  that  the  proposals  were 
very  distinct  and  explicit  ;  that  he  would  give  them 
all  due  consideration,  and  would  give  Mr.  Forster 
an  answer,  either  accepting  or  rejecting  them,  on 
the  15th  of  October,  when  his  lease  would  expire. 

Isaac  was  thunderstruck.  Here  he  was,  in  the 
first  sitting,  in  the  first  game  for  an  enormous  stake, 
in  check  to  the  knight  whom  Jones  Carter  had 
written  to  him  he  could  manage  a  dozen  of.  And, 
besides,  his  adversary — for  such  henceforth  he  will 
consider  Mr.  Ballenger — had  gained  two  most  im- 
portant points  on  the  board  :  an  acknowledgment 
of  notice  of  the  conveyance  of  the  lands  to  Mr. 
Ballenger,  and  the  consequent  annulment  of  the 
power  of  attorney  after  that  date,  and  a  recogni- 
tion in  writing  of  the  day  on  which  the  lease  would 
terminate.  "This  comes  of  eager  and  unguarded 
fishing  in  water  before  we  know  its  depth."  Isaac, 
however,  hoped  that  these  things  might  not  be  ob- 
served ;  they  were  surely  not  artfully  drawn  out. 
Mr.  Ballenger  had  made  no  suggestion.  He  might 
only  be  a  slow  man,  without  being  astute  or  delib- 
erate, much  less  cautious  or  cunning.  His  having 
paid  sixty  thousand  dollars  as  security  for  other 
people  forbade  all  such,  ideas.  He  must  wait  on 


THE    RESCUE.  49 

him — watch  him  closely — sound  him  to  the  bottom, 
and  take  his  measures  according  to  circumstan- 
ces. 

"  Well, 'sir,"  said  he,  "your  will  must  be  my 
pleasure  in  this  matter.  But  delays  are  dangerous 
(Isaac  felt  the  full  force  of  this  truism),  and  y«u 
may  find  it  so,  Mr.  Ballenger.  /thought  that  your 
true  interests  were  so  plain  in  providing  at  present 
for  their  advancement,  that  the  business  might  have 
been  done,  as  it  ought  to  be,  sir,  in  half  an  hour — 
to-day  as  well  (certainly  better)  than  at  any  future 
time." 

"Perhaps  so,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger.  "But  my 
health  is  not  good,  and  therefore  I  have  fixed  a 
day  for  my  answer  somewhat  distant,  that  if,  in  the 
spring,  I  should  recover  my  wonted  strength,  I  may 
improve  it  by  riding.  In  that  case,  I  hope  to  see 
some,  at  least,  of  the  London  surveys,  and  judge 
for  myself  of  their  value." 

"Nothing  but  his  death  or  his  daughter,  then," 
thought  Isaac  Forster,  "  can  carry  me  through. 
He  must  die  or  I  must  marry  before  November 
next.  His  daughter  is  a  fine-looking  girl,  rather 
too  fond  of  dress,  I  perceive,  and  high-minded — 
the  daughters  of  the  Virginia  aristocrats  are  all  so. 
Let  me  get  her,  though,  and  I'll  manage  all  that." 

The  object  of  his  thoughts  was  just  entering  the 
room  as  these  thoughts  passed  through  his  mind. 
"  This  is  my  daughter  Matilda,  Mr.  Forster,"  said 
Mr.  Ballenger,  formally  introducing  her,  although 
she  had  been  both  at  the  supper  and  breakfast  table 
with  Mr.  Forster.  Yet  he  was  not  known  to  Mr. 
Bnllenger  in  such  a  manner,  according  to  his  no- 
tions of  etiquette,  as  to  be  introduced  to  his  daugh- 
ter till  his  letter  of  introduction  had  been  delivered. 

Miss  Ballenger  made  the  acknowledgment  usual 
in  those  days — a  low  and  very  graceful  courtesy — 
which  is  more  agreeable  even  now  to  the  eyes  of 
old  gentlemen,  especially,  than  the  short  bob  or 


50  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

hardly  perceptible  nod  which  is  fashionable  at  the 
present  day, 

"  I  hope  you  are  pleased,  miss,  with  the  West- 
ern country,"  said  Isaac,  addressing  the  young  lady. 

"  Quite  so,  sir,  especially  with  the  scenery,"  she 
replied,  with  that  grace  and  quiet  dignity  of  man 
ner  which  marks  the  demeanour  of  well-bred  Vir 
ginia  ladies. 

"You  must  be  very  domestic,  I  think,  for  I  have 
never  seen  you  out  j  I  should  not  have  forgotten 
it,  I  am  very  sure." 

"I  have  had  but  little  time  as  yet,  sir,  to  form 
acquaintances,  and  there  are  few  public  places  in 
the  country  at  which  the  presence  of  ladies  is  ex- 
pected except  those  of  public  worship,  and  they 
are  not  numerous,  I  believe,  in  this  neighbourhood." 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say  that  is  true,  miss." 

"Religion  is  a  great  thing — and  a  good  thing 
too,  sir — the  best  of  all  things." 

"  To  what  denomination,  may  I  ask,  Miss  Bal- 
lenger,  do  you  belong  V' 

"My  father  is  an  Episcopalian,  sir,  and  I  have 
seen  no  reason  to  abandon  the  church  to  which  he 
is  attached." 

"  That,  I  think,  is  right,  miss.  Those  who  think 
their  fathers  right,  are  apt,  when  they  marry,  to 
think  their  husbands  right — dutiful  daughters  make 
dutiful  wives." 

"I  did  not  view  the  question  of  church-member- 
ship in  that  light,"  said  Matilda,  smiling. 

"I  presume  not,"  said  Mr.  Forster;  "but  you 
may,  though,  for  young  ladies  are  apt  to  put  one 
in  mind  of  a  church,  you  know,  if  they  never  think 
of  it  themselves." 

"  Oh,  I  don't  pretend,"  said  Matilda,  "  never  to 
think  of  that  to  which  you  allude." 

"  If  you  did,"  said  her  father,  "neither  Mr.  For- 
ster nor  any  other  gentleman  would  believe  you." 

Mr.  Forster  looked  at  his  watch — a  very  showy 
one — requested  his  horse  to  be  brought  out,  took 


THE    RESCUE.  51 

his  leave,  and  departed.  "Well,  Tom,  my  boy," 
said  he  to  that  servant,  as  he  handed  him  the  bri- 
dle and  held- the  stirrup  for  him  to  mount  his  horse, 
"my  horse  looks  well  this  morning — I  am  sorry  1 
haven't  a  fourpence  for  you.  That  young  mistress 
of  yours  is  a  handsome  girl,  Tommy — make  an  ele- 
gant wife,  eh !  Good-by." 


CHAPTER  VII. 

"  SORRY  he  ain't  got  a  fourpence  for  me,"  said  Un- 
cle Tom,  looking  at  Mr.  Forster  as  he  rode  away. 
"  He's  sorry  he  ain't  got  more  for  his  self.  What  he 
think  I  want  wid  fourpence  from  sich  as  he  ?  He  ain't 
no  gentleman.  If  you  vvus  to  run  all  the  raal  gentle- 
men in  Ole  Viginny  through  a  wheat-fan,  you  couldn't 
shake  out  nor  blow  out  sich  tail  eends  as  dat  man — 
ha !  ha  !  hah  !  My  missus  a  hansom  gal !  Make  an 
illegant  wife  !  Lor  bless  my  soul !  ha  !  ha  !  hah  !  I 
don't  no  what's  gwine  to  happen  when  sich  trash  as  he 
takes  her  name  in  his  mouf.  'Tain't  fitten  for  a  spit- 
box  for  her.  I  'clar  fore  God,  she  shouldn't  sile  her 
shoes  by  walkiri'  on  him  over  a  mud-hole.  Illegant 
wife  !  What  he  gwine  do  wid  illegant  wife  ?  ha  !  ha ! 
hah  !  He  inity  illegant  heself,  I  spose  —  ain't  he  ? 
The  'oman  what  does  his  washin'  will  have  nasty 
wuck  if  what's  in  him  swets  out  through  his  lether 
Wife  !  I  'clar,  he  must  be  a  born  fool  to  think  of  sicb 
a  thing.  Lord  a  massa  !  what  is  dis  world  cummin  to  !' 

Old  Tom  was  entirely  mistaken.  Isaac  Forstei 
was  neither  a  born  fool  nor  tail-ends.  His  natural 
powers  of  mind  were  far  above  mediocrity  ;  not  highly 
cultivated,  to  be  sure,  but  improved  by  the  usual  exer 
cises  of  country  schools,  and  greatly  strengthened  and 
sharpened  by  active  intercourse  with  the  world  i'\c/ 
since  he  left  school.  No  intervening  time  of  idleness 


52  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

had  blunted  or  rusted  his  powers.  And  as  for  old 
Tom's  taunt  of  tail-ends,  it  was  still  wider  of  the  mark. 
By  his  own  exertions,  Isaac  Forster  had  made  a  for- 
tune, was  rich,  could  sport  a  carriage  if  he  chose,  and 
had  built  up,  by  industry  and  attention  to  business,  a 
reputation  among  his  fellows  of  no  common  kind.  He 
had  been  nominated  by  "  many  voters"  to  represent 
the  county  in  the  General  Assembly,  and  was  himself 
seriously  thinking  of  Congress.  He*  very  politely  and 
patriotically  declined  the  call  of  "  many  voters,"  be- 
cause there  was  another  candidate  of  the  same  party 
in  the  field,  and  he  could  not  consent,  in  the  critical 
condition  of  the  country,  to  divide  the  party  or  weaken 
its  force  by  permitting  his  humble  pretensions  to  be 
urged  at  this  lime.  Thus  it  is  manifest  that,  so  far 
from  being  tail-ends,  he  was  a  member  of  the  modern 
aristocracy  of  America. 

The  ancient  aristocracy  of  Old  Virginia,  as  is  well 
known,  rested  on  obsolete  and  absurd  abstractions — 
on  high  birth,  high  intellectual  and  moral  qualities, 
chivalrous  sentiments  of  honour,  and  polished  manners. 
Some  of  these,  it  is  true,  were  sometimes  received  as 
evidences  of  the  existence  of  the  others,  when  no  bet- 
ter testimony  could  be  obtained  ;  whereas  the  modern 
aristocracy  is  based  upon  no  metaphysical  abstractions, 
but  on  solid  physical  foundations — factories  and  hard- 
working "  operatives"  wharves  and  warehouses,  tea 
ships  and  whale  ships,  and  white  oak ;  on  farms,  plan- 
tations, and  negroes  —  black  operatives — cotton-bales, 
cattle,  hogs,  horses,  and  hemp.  It  is  true  that  a  small 
section  of  the  more  modern  aristocracy  rests  upon 
i  basis  somewhat  equivocal,  unsubstantial,  and  ver- 
ging on  the  abstract,  paper  constituting  its  principal, 
and,  not  unfrequently,  its  only  solid  material — plats 
of  cities  in  futuro,  water  lots,  fancy  stocks  (not  for 
the  neck,  though  they  ought  to  be),  shin-plasters  that 
increase  the  cancer  on  the  Legs — bank  stocks  and 
Biddleism — a  new  term,  which  I  can  find  in  no  dic- 
tionary, ancient  or  modern,  and  am  therefore  at  an  ut- 
ter loss  how  to  render  in  our  honest  old  vernaculai 


THE    RESCUE.  53 

tongue,  for  the  best  reason  in  the  world  —  I  do  not 
know  what  it  means,  and  very  much  doubt  whether  it 
has  any  real  meaning.  But  this  1  do  know,  that  this 
section  of  modern  aristocracy  rises  highest  and  sinks 
lowest  in  the  scale.  To-day  its  members  live  in  palaces, 
and  to-morrow  have  not  a  place  to  lay  their  head  upon. 
To-day  they  drive  chariots,  shine  in  splendid  array,  roll 
in  the  luxury  of  princes  ;  to-morrow  the  glitter  is  gone 
— the  golden  goblet  dashed  from  their  lips,  and  their 
very  names  only  to  be  found  in  the  bankrupt  list. 

Uncle  Tom's  notions  of  gentility  and  gentlemen 
were  entirely  out  of  date.  He  was  behind  the  times. 
He  could  not  conceive  of  any  other  sort  of  gentleman 
but  the  old  Virginia  stock,  and  obstinately  persisted  in 
excluding  from  the  class  all  parvenues,  however  rich 
and  popular  they  might  be,  if  their  breeding,  knowl- 
edge, morals,  and  manners  especially,  did  not  come  up 
to  or  sink  down  to  his  abstractionary  standard.  We 
must  not  condemn  this  old  gray-headed  servant  too 
hastily  for  thus  remembering  when  and  among  whom 
he  was  born  and  had  lived  all  his  life  ;  we  must  make 
allowance  for  the  deep-rooted  prejudices  which  had 
grown  out  of  the  circumstances  in  which  he  had  been 
placed  ;  and,  above  all,  we  must  not  forget  that  he  was 
but  an  ignorant  negro  slave. 

Even  some  poor,  though  proud  old  men,  claiming  to 
be  gentlemen,  but  whose  pretensions  are  sneered  at, 
are  still  to  be  found,  who  are  so  besotted  as  to  contend 
that  the  word  gentleman  ex  vi  termini  implies  some  de- 
gree of  education,  polish,  and  refinement,  and  that  a 
man  without  these,  or  the  appearance  of  them  at  least, 
however  honest,  worthy,  well-meaning,  and  even  rich 
and  popular  he  may  be,  is  not  entitled  to  the  appella- 
tion of  a  gentleman.  We  advise  them  to  give  utter- 
ance to  no  such  sentiments ;  for  verily,  if  they  do, 
they  will  get  their  noses  pulled  by  some  gentleman 
negro-driver,  whose  splendid  equipage  is  obstructed  on 
the  highway  by  their  old,  rusty,  broken-down  buggies. 

Mr.  Ballenger's  carriage  began  to  look  rather  weath- 
er-worn, to  the  great  annoyance  of  Uncle  Tom,  who 


54  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

did  all  that  varnish,  arid  blacking,  and  rubbing,  and 
scrubbing  could  do  to  keep  up  its  respectable  appear- 
ance ;  and,  fortunately  for  his  pride  at  least,  there 
were  but  few  carriages  of  any  kind,  except  carts  and 
wagons,  on  the  Kanawha  at  that  period.  The  state 
of  the  roads,  too,  at  that  time,  helped  to  save  appear- 
ances. The  roads  passed  along  between  the  river  on 
the  one  side,  and  the  cliffs  on  the  other,  sometimes 
beneath  the  overhanging  rocks  projecting  from  them, 
and  then,  again,  approaching  arid  running  along  on  the 
alluvial  bank  of  the  river.  At  frequent  intervals  they 
were  intersected  by  deep,  dry  runs  or  streams  passing 
down  from  the  hills  through  the  bottom-lands,  and 
cutting  their  channels  through  the  rich,  loose  soil.  At 
high  water  these  were  impassable,  and  the  traveller 
had  to  diverge  from  the  road  into  the  hills  to  find  some 
pass  through  them  by  which  he  could  ascend  the 
cliffs  and  find  a  ford.  Over  some  of  the  worst  of 
these  deep  guts  or  nullahs,  pole  bridges  were  thrown, 
on  which  the  traveller  passed  them.  But  these  bridg- 
es were  often  washed  away,  or  the  poles  disarranged 
by  high  water. 

The  Kanawha  Valley,  from  the  falls  to  the  mouth 
of  the  river,  ninety  miles  distant,  forms  an  acute  delta, 
with  its  base  on  the  Ohio.  There  is  no  land  in  Amer- 
ica of  a  richer  soil  or  greater  fertility  ;  and  in  so  nar- 
row a  valley,  shut  in  by  mountains  and  traversed  by  so 
large  a  river,  the  climate  is  more  equable  and  milder 
than  on  extensive  plains  in  the  same  latitude.  The 
peach,  pear,  and  apple,  the  plum  and  the  grape,  are 
rarely  killed  by  variations  in  the  temperature ;  and 
they  all  mature  their  fruit  in  great  perfection.  The 
fields  of  grain  and  grass  exhibit  the  most  luxuriant 
crops.  Indeed,  nothing  can  surpass,  in  the  eyes  of  an 
American  agriculturist,  the  deep  green,  cloud-like  ap- 
pearance of  a  field  of  Indian  corn  in  the  Kanawha 
bottom,  just  before  it  throws  out  its  feathery  tassels 
and  silken  shoots. 

In  its  primeval  state,  this  valley  was  covered  by  trees 
of  an  enormous  size  and  height.  The  tulip-tree  (Ly- 


THE   RESCUE.  55 

riodendron),  the  walnut,  the  hickory,  the  sugar-maple, 
the  buckeye,  but,  above  all,  the  button-wood  or  syca- 
more (Platahus  Occidentalis),  throwing  out  from  its 
giant  trunk  its  large  white  spectral  arms  high  in  the 
air  and  over  the  stream,  marked  the  course  of  the 
Great  Kanawha  to  the  eye  of  every  traveller.  The 
undergrowth  of  papaw,  spice-wood,  dog-wood,  redbud, 
and  sumach,  twined  with  vines  and  creepers,  filled 
the  intervening  spaces  between  the  trunks  of  the  lar- 
ger trees  ;  and  beneath  these  bloomed  a  profusion  of 
wild  flowers  :  the  puccoon,  the  violet,  the  ladies'  slip- 
per, the  columbine,  and  a  thousand  other  beautiful 
children  of  the  woods.  The  sassafras  (Laurus)  does 
not,  on  ordinary  lands,  grow  to  a  large  size,  but  in  this 
valley  many  of  their  trunks  are  three  feet  in  diameter, 
and  rise  to  a  height  of  fifty  feet  without  a  limb,  and 
then  form  a  superb  conical  head,  crowned  with  clus- 
ters of  dense  green  leaves  and  coral-cupped  berries 
of  jet. 

Through  this  valley,  and  along  such  a  road,  the  day 
after  Mr.  Forster's  visit  to  New  Hope,  Mr.  Ballenger's 
carriage  was  rattling.  Uncle  Tom  was  driving  Miss 
Matilda  and  her  brother  from  a  meeting-house,  whith- 
er they  had  been  to  hear  the  Gospel  preached.  In 
passing  over  one  of  those  pole  bridges,  it  suddenly 
gave  way,  and  the  carriage,  horses,  and  driver  were 
precipitated  into  the  water  below.  Most  fortunately, 
the  sleeper  or  joint  on  the  lower  side  remained  un- 
broken, and  the  cross-poles,  with  the  carriage,  slided 
down,  and  in  overturning,  the  carriage  rested  against 
them.  A  man  on  horseback,  riding  just  behind  the 
carriage,  saw  the  accident,  and  the  imminent  danger 
to  those  within  it.  He  leaped  from  his  horse,  plunged 
into  the  water,  tore  open  the  door  on  the  upper  side, 
seized  the  lady  by  her  cloak,  and  dragged  her  out  and 
on  the  bank. 

William  Henry  Ballenger  had  broken  through  the 
top  of  the  carriage,  believing  that  the  door  could  not 
be  opened  in  time  to  save  his  sister  ;  but  now,  seeing 
her  in  safety  on  the  bank,  leaped  out,  and  turned  to  se« 


56  NEW   HOPE  J    OR, 

what  had  become  of  Thomas,  the  driver.  He  had 
been  thrown  off  the  seat  into  the  water,  and  before  he 
rose  to  the  top,  had  been  carried  down  between  the 
loose,  broken  poles  below  the  bridge.  He  swam  to 
the  nearest  bank,  and  seeing  his  young  master  and 
mistress  safe  on  the  shore,  he  ran  up  the  bank,  pulled 
out  his  knife,  and  plunged  in  again  to  cut  the  traces 
of  the  horses.  But  it  was  too  late.  Before  he  could 
accomplish  his  purpose,  both  the  horses  were  drowned. 

It  was  but  a  short  distance  to  Mr.  Ballenger's  house. 
The  gentleman  who  had  rescued  Matilda  offered  his 
horse  for  her  use,  but  she  declined  the  offer,  alleging 
that,  as  it  was  quite  cold,  she  preferred  walking  with 
her  brother.  He  then  rode  on  to  the  house,  mentioned 
the  accident,  the  safety  of  the  son  and  daughter,  and 
the  loss  of  the  carriage  and  horses,  which  were  soon 
swept  down  by  the  rising  water  into  the  river.  He 
politely  refused  Mr.  Ballenger's  invitation  to  alight,  and 
rode  an  to  the  tavern  above.  That  man  was  Isaac 
Forster. 

"  'Twas  monstrous  kind,  and  right  bold  and  venter- 
some  too,  in  him  to  jump  in  de  water  1o  delibber  Miss 
Mattie,"  said  Uncle  Tom.  "  But  dat  don't  make  him 
a  gentleman  yit.  I  helped  to  pull  ole  master  out  on 
de  Potomac,  whar  it's  a  hundred  times  wider  and  deep- 
er dan  dis  nasty  gully,  and  dat  didn't  make  me  a  gen- 
tleman," 

Uncle  Tom,  after  this  accident,  treated  Mr.  Forster 
with  more  deference  and  respect ;  but  he  was  incor- 
rigible on  the  subject  of  gentility. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

AFTER  Miss  Matilda  and  William  Henry  had  chan- 
ged their  clothes  and  returned  to  the  sitting-room, 
where  a  blazing  fire  had  been  made,  and  after  the  ac- 


THE    RESCUE.  57 

cident  at  the  bridge  had  been,  as  is  common,  talked 
over  and  commented  on,  Mr.  Ballenger  handed  to  Ma- 
tilda a  letter  which  he  had  received  in  their  absence. 
This  was  customary  with  him.  He  kept  no  secrets 
from  his  children,  and  they  had  very  few,  if  any,  which 
were  not  communicated  to  him.  They  had  the  most 
implicit  confidence  in  him.  They  knew  that  he  loved 
them  with  his  whole  heart ;  that  their  welfare  and 
happiness  were  objects  of  which  he  never  lost  sight ; 
that  they  were  next,  in  ail  his  thoughts,  to  the  love 
and  service  of  God,  in  whom  his  faith  and  trust  were 
strong  and  abiding  principles,  not  only  producing  hope, 
humility,  and  confidence,  but  they  were  also  princi- 
ples of  action,  as  well  in  relation  to  his  fellow-crea- 
tures as  to  his  Creator.  Religion  and  morality,  in  his 
opinion  and  practice,  were  cause  and  effect — the  tree 
and  the  fruit.  His  children  were  taught  to  believe 
that  they  could  not  consult,  under  any  circumstances, 
safer  advisers  than  their  parent ;  none  more  deeply  in- 
terested in  directing  them  aright ;  none  having  a  great- 
er stake  in  their  well-being. 

With  many  young  gentlemen  and  ladies  most  inju- 
diciously educated,  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  children 
will  pass  for  very  oldfashioned  people.  The  parents 
of  such  are  the  last  persons  to  hear  of  any  embarrass- 
ment or  affaire  du  cceur  in  which  they  become  involv- 
ed ;  while  a  mere  acquaintance  of  a  day  or  week  receives 
their  confidence,  and  becomes  the  depository  of  their  in- 
most thoughts  and  feelings,  and  even  of  their  honour. 
This  is  one  among  other  causes  of  ill-assorted  marriages 
and  early  repentance — of  desired  separation  and  di- 
vorce. With  Mr.  Ballenger's  son  and  daughter  it  was 
not  a  mere  admitted  truism  that  parents  should  be  the 
confidential  friends  of  their  children  ;  it  was  acted  on 
— not  an  abstract  notion,  the  useless  lumber  of  the  brain. 

Matilda,  in  reading  the  letter,  blushed  deeply ;  yet, 
when  she  turned  her  eyes  to  her  father,  their  expres- 
sion told  that  no  secret  of  hers  previously  unknown  to 
him  was  divulged  in  it.  She  did  not  even  pettishly 
exclaim  "  I  wish  Mr.  Bird  would  mind  his  own  busi- 
8 


58  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

ness,  and  not  write  stories  about  me."     Here,  gentle 
readers,  is  the  letter. 

"  Alexandria,  Nov.  10th,  1798. 
"  ED.  BALLENGER,  ESQ., 
"  MY  DEAR  SIR, 

"  We  have  not  had  the  pleasure  of  hearing  from  you 
directly  since  you  left  us,  though  we  heard  of  you  in- 
cidentally at  the  White  Sulphur  Springs  through  our 
mutual  young  friend,  Carrington.  He  gave  us  the 
welcome  information  that  your  health  was  better,  and 
that  the  young  folks,  Miss  Matilda  and  William  Henry, 
were  recovering  their  usual  flow  of  spirits,  and  were 
even  anticipating  much  pleasure  from  the  novelty  of  a 
settlement  in  the  woods.  I  have  no  doubt,  though, 
that  there  was  some  little  sighing,  if  not  crying,  at 
parting  with  Victor  Carrington.  Poor  fellow !  the 
parting  with  Miss  M.  was  a  severe  trial  to  him.  I 
should  not  have  mentioned  this  matter,  were  I  not  cer- 
tain that  your  penetration  had  discovered  his  penchant 
for  my  dear  god-daughter,  even,  if  you  had  not  been 
made  her  confidant,  which  I  have  no  other  reason  to 
believe  than  is  afforded  by  my  knowledge  of  her  pru- 
dence and  the  unreserved  confidence  which  she  repo- 
ses, very  properly,  in  you,  her  father,  on  all  occasions. 

"  Our  commercial  misfortunes  have  lately  thickened 
around  us,  but,  as  you  have  released  us  from  your 
heavy  claim  in  consideration  of  the  lands  conveyed  to 
you,  we  shall,  I  hope,  ultimately  work  through,  and 
have  a  decent  competency  left.  We  ardently  hope 
that  the  lands  will  indemnify  you,  though,  from  Mr 
Forster's  account  of  them,  we  can  hardly  expect  thai 
they  will  ever  bring  a  tithe  of  the  money.  Would 
that  the}'  might  be  worth  a  million  to  you,  my  dear  sir 

"  Victor  sails  next  week  for  Liverpool.  I  suppose 
he  will  be  absent  nearly  a  year.  His  father  insisted 
on  his  taking  this  trip  before  thinking  of  getting  marri 
ed  and  settling  down  to  the  practice  of  the  law,  foi 
which  the  judges  and  lawyers  at  Richmond  and  here 
say  he  is  eminently  qualified.  Tell  my  little  god 
daughter  that  if  she  does  not  find  some  beau,  or,  rath 


THE    RESCUE.  59 

er,  if  some  beau  in  the  wild  woods  of  the  West  does 
not  find  her,  and  cut  out  Victor  in  his  absence,  I  shall 
expect,  on  his  return,  a  bidding  to  a  merry-making  on 
the  Kanawha.  Old  and  gouty  as  1  am,  I'll  try  to  hob- 
ble over.  Kiss  the  dear  little  prude  for  me,  and  ac- 
cept for  yourself  and  William  Henry  assurances  of  the 
sincere  regard  and  respect 

"  With  which  I  am,  my  dear  sir, 

"  Your  obedient  servant, 

"  EDWIN  BIRD." 

After  reading  the  letter,  she  passed  it  to  her  brother, 
and  patting  her  foot  on  the  floor  for  some  time,  looked 
up  into  her  father's -face  with  a  smile,  though  the  tears 
were  in  her  eyes,  and  said, 

"  Father,  you  have  'not  complied  with  Mr.  Bird's 
request." 

Mr.  Ballenger  took  his  daughter  in  his  arms,  and 
kissed  her  for  Mr.  Bird  once,  and  twice  at  least  for 
himself. 

"  Well !"  said  William  Henry,  "  it  is  strange — a 
great  mystery  to  me,  Mattie." 

"  What  is,  brother  ?" 

"  Why,"  said  he,  "  the  doctrine  of  the  association 
of  ideas — that  my  father  here  should  not  have  thought 
of  Mr.  Bird's  request,  and  you,  on  the  mention  in  a 
letter  of  the  name  of  somebod — " 

Matilda  put  her  hand  over  his  mouth,  and  said, 

"  Do,  if  you  dare,  sir !  Now  isn't  he  a  pretty  fel- 
low, father,  to  talk  in  that  way,  so  philosophically,  too, 
when  he  came  home  the  other  day  (I'll  tell  of  you, 
William,  indeed  I  will),  and  actually  bragged  of  his 
generalship — yes,  that  was  his  word — in  managing  to 
kiss  Miss  Helen  Templeman  the  second  time  he  ever 
saw  her." 

"  It  was  only  a  philosophical  experiment,  Mattie, 
you  know  very  well,"  said  William. 

"  No  doubt,"  interposed  Mr.  Ballenger  :  "  he  is  dis- 
posed to  be  a  great  philosopher.  But  I  shall  advise 
Squire  Templeman  to  have  an  eye  on  his  experi- 
ments " 


60  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  William,  "  he  was  present,  and 
might  have  seen  it,  although  I  confess  I  used  all  pos- 
sible caution  In  conducting  it,  merely  to  avoid  any  ac- 
cidental explosion,  like  that  which  took  place  just 
now,  when  you  performed  a  similar  experiment  for 
Mr.  Bird,  or  yourself,  I  don't  know  which.  But 
where  can  Ben  Bramble  be  ?  He  promised  to  be 
here  this  evening,  to  initiate  me  in  the  mysteries  of 
bear  hunting.  We  set  out  to-morrow  on  an  excursion 
of  that  sort,  and  are  going  even  into  the  Shades  of 
Death,  Mattie." 

"  Oh !"  said  Mattie,  "  although  I  never  heard  of 
any  place  having  that  name,  except  near  Wyoming,  I 
can  give  a  shrewd  guess  as  to  their  location — some- 
where in  the  Loop,  or,  at  least,  not  far  from  Mr.  Tem- 
ple man's,  I'll  be  bound." 

"  Entirely  out,  sister  mine,"  replied  William.  "  They 
are  beyond  the  Loop,  and  on  this  side  of  the  river,  be- 
tween the  ferry  on  New  River  and  Sewel  Mountain. 
But  here  comes  Ben." 

•*  Stop,  now,"  said  Matilda,  "  and  don't  say  a  word 
till  I  ask  him  a  question.  You  know,  Ben,"  said  she, 
saluting  him,  "  the  ladies  are  entitled  to  the  first  word, 
are  they  not  ?" 

"  I  don't  know,  for  that  they  ginerally  contrive  to 
git  the  last,  I've  hearn,"  said  Ben.  "  Howsumever, 
ax  your  question,  honey,  and  I'll  answer  it  if  I  can." 

"  Which  way,  Ben,  do  you  go  to  get  to  the  Shades 
of  Death?" 

"  Why,  you  ain't  thinking  of  gwine  thar  ?  It's  the 
lonesomest,  darkest,  awfullest  place  in  natur — nothrn' 
but  deer,  and  bar,  and  wild-cats,  and  painters,  and  rat- 
tlesnakes." 

"  Well,  never  mind  them,  only  tell  me  the  way  to 
that  dreadful  place." 

"  If  so  be  you  don't  think  of  gwine  thar,  I'll  tell  you." 

"  Oh,  I  promise  you,  Ben,  never  even  to  think  of 
going." 

"  Well,  then,"  said  Ben,  "  thar's  two  ways  from 
here.  The  roundabout  way  is  by  the  Mouth  of  Gan- 


THE    RESCUE.  61 


ley,  up  by  the  Hawk's  Nest,  and  so  between  Big  and 
Little  Sewel,  and  up  the  New  River  tjdtttapu  strike 
the  Lewisburg  trail,  that  runs  right  tfl  ^Bt.  But 
the  nigh  way  is  through  the  Loop  by  Squire  Tcmple- 
man's  to  the  ferry,  over  that,  and  up  the  cliffs." 

"  I  thought  so,"  said  Matilda,  looking  archly  at  her 
brother.  "  And  that's  the  way  you  and  William  are 
going,  Ben,  is  it  not  ?" 

"  Oh,  sure,  it's  the  shortest  cut." 

"  I  was  sure  of  it,"  said  Matilda.  "  There's  fine 
hunting  about  the  squire's,  ain't  there,  Ben  ?" 

Ben  looked  amazed,  and  stared  first  at  Matilda  and 
then  at  William  Henry.  » 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  is  the  gal  arter  ?"  said 
he,  turning  to  her  brother. 

"  You'd  better  ask  him,  Ben,  what  he's  after." 

Ben  looked  at  William  for  at  least  a  minute,  and 
then  broke  out  into  a  loud  laugh. 

"  Was  thar  ever  the  like  of  that !"  said  he  ;  "  thar 
ain't  nothin'  that  they  don't  find  out.  I  hardly  suspi- 
cioned  him  myself,  though  I've  bin  with  him  constant. 
I  can't  tell  whar  a  varmint's  gwine,  and  what  he's  arter, 
without  tracking  him  ;  and  she's  sot  down  in  the  house 
here  at  home,  and  larnt  it  like  a  book.  Women  must 
have  a  gift  'bout  them  things.  It's  in  thar  natur,  or  it 
couldn't  go  so  straight  to  the  mark.  She  hit  him  as 
true  as  if  she  had  took  aim  with  a  rifle." 

"  Take  care  of  that  boy,  Ben,  I  pray  you,"  said  Ma- 
tilda ;  "  and  if  he  ever  gets  lost,  be  sure  to  hunt  the 
woods  around  Squire  Templeman's.  There's  a  deer 
there  that  he  wishes  to  catch,  I'm  sure." 

"  Tain't  no  use,  you  see,  Master  Will,  to  try  to  hide 
from  um.  They'd  disciver  you,  and  what  you  was 
arter,  even  in  the  Shades  of  Death,  I  b'leve,"  said  Ben. 


62  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 


CHAPTER  IX. 

EARLY  the  next  morning  Ben  Bramble  and  Will* 
iam  Henry  Ballenger  set  out  on  their  hunting  ex- 
pedition. That  propensity  which  manifests  itself 
in  boys  at  so  early  a  period  of  their  existence,  in 
chasing  chipping  squirrels,  minks,  and  weasels,  and 
can  hardly  be  repressed  when  it  breaks  out  in  even 
worrying  their  sisters'  favourite  cats  found  out  of 
the  yard  hunting  their  own  prey,  which  in  youths 
gains  strength,  and  grows  into  a  passion  in  the  pur- 
suit and  capture  of  the  hare,  the  opossum,  and  the 
rackoon,  and  is  fully  developed  in  men  of  every 
age  and  country  in  hunting  the  fox,  the  stag,  the 
wolf,  the  wild  boar  and  buffalo,  the  tiger,  and  even 
the  lordly  lion  himself,  is  found  in  men  of  the  no- 
blest nature,  and  of  the  most  manly,  generous,  and 
tender  feelings  ;  in  the  rude  savage  and  uncivilized, 
in  the  cultivated,  polished,  and  the  most  re-fined. 
The  most  humanizing  influences  of  civilization  do 
not  destroy  it.  Its  exercise  in  the  Indian  of  the 
East  and  of  the  West  is  a  necessity  as  well  as  a 
pleasure.  But  with  the  Anglo-Saxon  race,  over 
which  this  propensity  seems  to  exert  the  strongest 
influence,  it  is  merely  an  exciting  pleasure,  in  the 
pursuit  of  which  they  recklessly  risk  limbs,  and  life 
itself.  Whether  it  be  the  mimic  representation  of 
war,  the  most  stirring  game  which  mere  animals, 
as  well  as  men,  delight  to  play  at,  or  the  simple 
pleasure  derived  from  strong  excitement,  is  a  ques- 
tion of  metaphysical  speculation  with  which  we  at 
present  have  nothing  to  do. 

Although  reared  in  a  city,  and  all  unused  to  field- 
sports,  William  Henry  Ballenger,  excited,  no  doubt, 
by  the  homely,  but  vivid  wild-wood  tales  of  Ben 
Bramble,  was  soon  urged  by  this  natural  propensi- 


THE    RESCUE.  63 


ty  to  join  him  in  hunting  and  fishing  excursions ; 
and  so  docile  and  apt  a  pupil  he  was  ^••keasily 
we  learn  what  we  love  to  acquire  •  Bt  the 
schoolmaster,  who,  we  are  now  so  con^BPty  told, 
is  abroad,  take  the  hint  1),  that  in  a  very  short 
time  he  could,  with  unerring  certainty,  spear  the 
buffalo  perch  and  the  blue  cat-fish  in  the  clear  wa- 
ters of  the  Kanawha — scalp  a  squirrel  with  a  rifle 
ball  on  the  highest  tree  in  the  forest — cut  ofFthe 
head  of  a  wild  turkey,  or  bring  down  a  buck  at  a 
hundred  yards'  distance.  In  the  phraseology  of 
Ben,  he  "  was  gittin'  to  know  a  thing  or  two  ;"  and 
he  was  becoming  a  great  favourite  and  pet  with  his 
instructer. 

"  You've  only  to  learn  the  use  of  the  knife  and 
tomahawk  now,"  said  Ben  to  him,  "  and  a  scrim- 
mage with  a  wild-cat,  or  a  tussle  with  a  painter,  or 
a  rough  roll  and  tumble  with  a  bar,  will  finish  yer 
eddication.  You  ar  gittin'  along  pretty  piert  for 
one  that's  bin  fotch'd  up  in  them  prison  walls  of  a 
city  in  the  old  settlements,  and  's  seed  nothin'  of 
natur.  I  must  take  you  to  the  head  waters  of  Coal, 
or  on  the  knobs  of  Big  Sandy,  this  winter.  Nat 
Colly,  Sam  Dyer,  and  that  young  ring-tailed  roar- 
er, Charley  Vandal,  if  he  can  leave  the  fiddle  and 
the  gals  this  Christmas,  may  look  out  for  us  'bout 
that  time.  Sam  Dyer's  got  more  sense  now  than 
he  had  when  he  was  a  boy,  jist  arter  he  was  marri- 
ed, and  got  into  that  tight  fix  in  the  box  elder.  Sam 
said  it  was  a  close  fit,  and  confined  him  sorter." 

"  How  was  that  1"  inquired  William  Henry. 

"  Why,  Sam,"  said  Ben,  "  when  he  was  first  mar- 
ried, was  monstrous  fond  of  his  young  wife — not  so 
young  a  'oman  nuther.  She  tuck  a  mity  likin'  to 
'possum.  Just  about  that  time  his  old  dog  Ran- 
ger died,  and  Sam  had  nothin'  but  a  young  thing 
that  hardly  know'd  the  scent  of  one  varmint  from 
another.  Howsumever,  'possum  his  wife  wanted, 
and  'possum  she  must  have  ;  so  Sam  gits  up  one 
moonshiny  night  afore  day,  and  starts  off*  into  the 


64  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

woods  with  young  Pomp  and  his  axe  on  his  shoul- 
der. JMft^tly  Pomp  gits  on  a  trail  right  up  the 
brancfl  •followed  it  pretty  fierce  till  he  treed  it 
in  a  b^^nollow  box  elder.  Sam  comes  up,  and 
looking  at  the  tree,  he  says,  '  Why,  Pomp,  you  ar 
barking  up  the  wrong  tree,  or  this  is  no  'possum. 
Sal  won't  tech  a  coon.  Howsumever,  I'll  have  him.' 
With  that  he  begins  to  cut  the  tree.  It  was  as  hol- 
low as  an  elder  stalk,  and  arter  a  while  down  it 
cum.  In  rushes  Pomp,  and  meets  the  coon  a  com- 
in'  out,  who  washed  his  face  arter  sich  a  fashion 
that  he  backed  right  on  the  tree,  while  the  coon 
turned  round  and  went  tother  way,  furder  in  the 
holler.  Sam  looked  in,  and  could  see  his  eyes  a 
shining,  but  he  couldn't  pissuade  Pomp  to  go  in, 
anyhow  he  could  fix  it.  So  he  gits  a  short  stick, 
and  in  he  goes  himself,  to  punch  the  coon  to  death. 
The  coon  backs,  and  Sam  crawls  arter  him,  though 
'twas  tight  squeezing  twell  he  could  jest  reach  him, 
and  only  make  him  growl.  '  I'll  make  you  talk 
plainer  than  that  afore  I'm  done  with  you,'  said 
Sam,  as  he  scrouged  furder  in,  and  punched  the 
coon  to  death.  He  then  reached  forard,  and  gittin' 
him  by  the  paw,  tried  to  get  back.  But  it  was  no 
go.  His  jacket  got  rucked  up  on  his  shoulders, 
and  he  couldn't  move  a  peg.  He  twisted  and  strug- 
gled, but  he  only  got  jammed  tighter.  '  This  is  a 
fix,'  said  Sam, '  that  Sal's  got  me  in?  layin'  the  blame 
on  his  wife,  as  some  men  will  do  when  they  git 
into  a  close  place  all  by  ther  own  fault.  He  worked 
and  worried  twell  he  was  fairly  done  up  ;  he  hol- 
lowed and  he  cussed,  and  he  swore  and  he  prayed, 
but  thar  he  was  tighter  than  ever. 

"Pomp  got  tired  of  waitin'  for  his  master,  and 
so,  'bout  breakfast-time,  arter  whining  a  while,  he 
trotted  off  home.  Sal,  seeing  the  dog  come  home 
without  Sam,  and  going  backward  and  forward 
howling  and  oneasy-like,  got  oneasy  herself,  and 
says  she  to  Josiah  Huff,  her  brother  (her  name  was 
Sally  Huff  afore  she  married  Sam), '  Somethin's  hap- 


THE    RESCUE.  65 

pened  to  Sam  as  sure  as  a  gun.  We  must  go  and 
sarch  for  him,  I  tell  ye  !'  So  off  they  sot,  and 
Pomp  carried  'utn  smack  to  the  tree.  Thar  was 
Sam's  axe  leaning  agin  the  stump.  Josiah  looked 
in,  and  seeing  Sam's  legs,  he  cried  out,  '  Why, 
Sam,  what  in  the  world  ar  you  doing  thar  1'  '  Try- 
ing to  git  out,'  said  Sam.  '  Why  didn't  you  think 
of  that,'  said  Sal, '  afore  you  got  in  V  '  Gaze  young 
men  is  sometimes  too  eager  to  do  what  they  ar 
sorry  enough  for  arterward,'  replied  Sam  to  the 
shrill,  objurgous  inquiry  of  his  wife.  'You  always 
was  a  fool,  1  b'leve,'  said  she,  'and  you  ar  gittin'  a 
bigger  fool  than  ever.  You'll  find  it  out  yerself 
some  o'  these  days,  Sam  Dyer.'  'I  is  found  it  out 
already  afore  to-day,'  said  Sam.  The  young  folks 
in  the  neighbourhood,"  continued  Ben,  "  said  that, 
afore  Sam  put  at  Sal  to  have  him,  she  was  an  ole 
inaid-like  ;  that  she  used  to  lean  to  him  mighty 
lovin'  in  the  chimbley  corner,  and  wore  her  tucker 
mighty  low  and  tempting,  and  fashonable-like,  but 
that  now  the  gray  mare  was  the  better  horse,  and 
Sam  had  raather  a  hard  time  with  her.  Well,  they 
fairly  hauled  Sam  out  on  the  tree.  But  it  gin  him 
sich  a  scare  'bout  losing  his  breath  in  a  close  place, 
that  he  wouldn't  sleep  without  his  cabin  door  wide 
open.  You  could  hardly  git  him  into  a  yard  with 
the  gate  shut,  or  a  five-acre  lot  with  a  fence  round 
it.  He  wouldn't  bear  a  joke  about  it ;  for  Charley 
Vandal  once  axed  him  which  was  the  tightest  fix, 
matrimony  or  a  box  elder,  or  which  was  the  clo- 
sest fit,  a  wooden  jacket  or  the  suit  Parson  Jinkins 
made  for  him.  And  if  the  stone  he  throw'd  at  Char- 
ley's head,  and  barked  the  sugar-maple  with,  had 
hit  him,  Charley  would  never  have  carried  that  keg 
of  whiskey  up  and  down  the  New  River  cliflf'bove 
the  Hawk's  Neest  that  he  did  at  the  wedding  of 
Darnell's  darter." 

"  Where  shall  we  stay  to-night,  Ben  1"  inquired 
William  Henry;  "at  Squire  Templeman's  1" 

"  That's  out  on  our  way  to  the  Shades  of  Death," 
3* 


66  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

said  Ben.  "  We  shall  find  no  bar  till  we  get  'mong 
them  dark  hollows,  all  kivered  with  bamboos,  green- 
briers,  ivy,  and  yew-trees.  It's  the  wildest  place 
and  the  solemnest  'tween  Big  Sewell  and  the  fer- 
ry, and  so  thick  and  dark  even  in  the  daytime,  t.  at 
it  makes  one  feel  awful  to  pass  through  it,  I  tell 
ye.  But  soon  as  I  said  wedding,  Master  Will,  it 
sot  you  to  thinkin'  of  the  squire's  darter,  Miss  Hel- 
en, I  guess.  Young  folks  will  be  young  folks,  so  1 
'spose  we  must  give  'um  a  call." 

"You  were  young  once,  Ben,"  said  William, 
"  and  you  are  not  too  old  now  to  be  pleased  with 
a  pretty  girl." 

"  That's  true,"  said  Ben  ;  "  but  Sam  Dyer's  tight 
fix  has  made  me  sorter  skittish  and  wary-like. 
Thar's  some  things  that  it's  raather  dangerous  to  be 
lookin'  at,  Master  Will ;  and  a  pretty  gal,  old  or 
young,  that  you  don't  know  nothin'  about  (no  dis- 
respect to  the  squire's  darter),  is,  accordin'  to  my 
notion,  one  of  them  things." 

Thus  conversing,  they  arrived  at  Squire  Temple- 
man's.  Ben  was  well  known  to  the  squire,  had 
served  under  him  in  the  army,  and  was  always  wel- 
come to  his  house.  The  evening  passed  very 
pleasantly  away.  After  Helen  had  retired,  the 
squire  related  many  anecdotes  connected  with  the 
early  settlement  of  the  Western  country,  with 
which  we  may,  at  some  future  time,  amuse  our 
readers.  In  this  work,  we  have  room  only  for  one, 
which  interested  William  Henry  very  much. 

"  On  the  bank  of  the  New  River,"  said  the  squire, 
u  I  was  once  called  out  to  fight  a  duel  by  an  officer 
of  the  old  fort  at  the  Mouth  of  Elk.  But,  as  you 
are  a  new-comer  to  this  country,  and  can  know  lit- 
tle of  New  River,  as  is  the  case,  I  find,  with  almost 
all  people  in  the  United  States  even,  except  those 
who  are  settled  on  its  wild,  remote,  and  mountain- 
ous banks,  I  will  describe  it  to  you,  as  it  is  well 
worth  a  description  ;  and  I  have  had  occasion,  at 
various  times,  to  trace  its  devious  and  obstructed 


THE    RESCUE.  67 

course  almost  from  its  source  to  the  Valley  of  the  Kan- 
awha.  It  rises,  as  I  presume  you  know  (for  the  geog- 
raphers tell  us  this,  and  where  it  empties,  and  that  is 
all),  in  North  Carolina,  and  is  throughout  an  emblem 
of  embarrassment,  perseverance,  success,  and  ultimate 
repose  its  reward.  In  passing  from  North  Carolina  into 
Virginia,  it  attempts  to  enter  the  great  Valley  of  the 
Mississippi,  by  uniting  with  the  south  fork  of  the  Hol- 
ston.  But  it  is  stopped  in  its  early  career  by  the 
Whitetop  Mountains  and  the  spurs  of  the  Alleghany. 
It  then  turns  to  the  east,  seeking  to  join  the  Dan  Riv* 
er,  but  is  repelled  by  the  southern  barrier  of  the  Blue 
Ridge.  Onward  it  moves  to  the  northeast,  and  agaic 
attempts  to  h'nd  a  passage  to  the  east,  and  unite  with 
the  Roanoke,  but  it  is  again  turned  back  to  the  north- 
west by  the  Blue  Mountains.  No  longer  looking  to 
the  east,  and  now  re-enforced  by  many  mountain  tor- 
rents, it  rushes  against  the  Alleghany,  breaks  through 
its  ramparts,  and  dashes  onward  to  the  northwest. 
Strengthened  by  the  East  River,  the  Blue  Stone,  and 
the  Greenbrier,  raging  and  foaming,  and  furious  as  a 
wounded  and  maddened  war-horse,  it  darts  down  the 
western  declivity,  tearing  down  every  obstacle,  and 
rushing  through  every  ridge,  till  it  finds  the  Ganley 
Mountain  frowning  in  front,  and  opposing  a  solid  wall 
of  rock  nine  hundred  feet  high  to  its  farther  passage. 
Here,  collecting  all  its  mighty  energies  for  a  last  eflort, 
its  deep  and  angry  waters  rise  higher  and  higher,  till 
they  reach  the  pinnacle,  and  with  irresistible  fury  it 
brings  their  whole  weight  and  force  to  bear  upon  the 
mountain.  It  bursts  asunder,  and  the  mighty  river  cuts 
down  to  the  foundation  of  the  mountain  a  yawning 
chasm  for  its  passage.  This  is  the  Hawk's  Nest,  a  ta- 
ble rock  on  the  side  of  the  Cleft  Mountain,  projecting 
over  the  stream  deep  down  below,  how  far  I  dare  not 
say.  From  this  point  the  river,  hurling  along  the 
enormous  rocks  which  it  had  torn  down,  as  if  they 
were  but  pebbles  in  its  course,  encounters  the  Ganley 
River,  also  on  its  westward  way.  They  unite,  and 
turning  to  the  left,  leap  down  a  cataract,  and  seek  re 


68  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

pose  in  the  verdant  valley  of  the  Great  Kanawha,  which 
gives  its  name  to  the  united  streams.  The  river  be- 
low, having  lost  its  character  with  its  name,  pursues 
a  quiet,  peaceful  course  to  the  Ohio,  la  Belle  Riviere, 
but,  in  my  opinion,  surpassed  by  the  one  I  have  de- 
scribed in  the  variety  and  sublimity  of  its  scenery,  if 
not  in  beauty  itself. 

"  Being  called  out,  as  I  said,  by  an  officer,  a  young 
man  to  whom,  as  I  thought,  I  had  given  no  just  cause 
of  offence,  and  to  whom,  of  course,  I  could  offer  no 
other  amende  than  a  statement  to  that  effect,  insisted 
on  my  fighting  him.     This  I  was  strongly  tempted  to 
do ;  but,  on  a  calm  and  dispassionate  consideration  of 
the  whole  subject  of  duelling,  I  positively  refused.     He 
had  been  stationed  in  the  fort  at  the  Mouth  of  Elk, 
on  the  Kanawha.     When  the  commander  of  the  fort, 
having  good  reason  to  believe  that  it  was  surrounded 
by  Indians,  determined  to  attack  it,  found  his  supply  of 
powder  inadequate  to  its  defence,  if  the  siege  should 
continue  longer  than  a  day  or  two.     He  paraded  his 
men  and  officers,  stated  their  perilous  condition,  and 
asked  who  would  volunteer  to  go  to  Lewisburg  for  a 
supply,  observing  that  he  hoped  he  should  not  be  un- 
der the  painful  necessity  of  ordering  anybody  to  per- 
form so  hazardous,  but  necessary  a  duty.     '  Let  any,' 
said  he,  '  who  will  volunteer,  step  out  and  march  to  the 
front.'     Not  a  man  moved.     '  I  will  go,'  said  Anne 
Bailey,  a  woman  in  the  fort.      She  did  so,  alone  and 
unattended  ;  slept  out  three  nights  in  the  wilderness, 
and  returned  in  safety  with  pack-horse  loads  of  gun- 
powder.     In    speaking   of  that   remarkable    circum- 
stance," continued   Squire  Templeman,  "  I  had   said 
they  were  a  cowardly,  unfeeling  set  of  men.     I  think 
so  still,  and  that  the  officer  who  challenged  me,  who 
was  one  of  them,  had  no  just  cause  of  offence.     He 
might  have  volunteered  himself,  as  the  commander's 
invitation  was  to  his  officers  as  well  as  the  privates. 
But,  after  mature  reflection,  I  could  not  have  fought  a 
duel  under  any  circumstances.     If  I  had  done  him  any 
wrong,  as  a  man  of  honour  I  was  bound  to  make  amends 


THE    RESCUE.  69 

without  putting  his  life  in  peril.  Duelling  is  a  prac- 
tice tint  reason  and  religion  condemn.  There  is  a 
want  of  moral  courage,  of  real  firmness,  in  abandoning 
the  citadel  of  reason.  But  enough  of  this,"  said  the 
squire  ;  "  and  if,  Mr.  Ballenger,  in  your  hunting  ex- 
cursions, you  would  look  upon  the  grand,  the  awful, 
the  terrific,  you  will  find  them  all  along  the  course  and 
on  the  cliffs  of  New  River  ;  if  the  picturesque  and  the 
beautiful,  with  some  touches  of  the  sublime  too,  you 
will  behold  them  in  your  own  immediate  neighbour- 
hood, in  the  upper  part  of  the  valley  in  which  you 
live." 

Yes  ;  and  I  will  add  to  Squire  Templeman's  account 
of  this  part  of  Virginia,  that  if  now  your  thoughts  are 
turned  to  objects  of  utility  alone,  you  will  only  have  to 
pass  a  little  lower  down  in  the  Valley  of  the  Great 
Kanavvha  to  find  a  navigable  river,  a  soil  unsurpassed 
in  fertility,  mountains  of  coal,  inexhaustible  sources  of 
salt  water,  a  stream  of  carburetted  hydrogen  gas  issuing 
from  the  earth,  a  flourishing  town,  turnpike  roads,  and 
steamboats  ;  and  if  you  will  accompany  me  in  my  next 
tour  to  that  most  interesting  part  of  the  Western  World, 
I  will  ensure  to  you,  gentle  reader,  a  kind  reception 
and  excellent  accommodations  at  my  friend  Ruflher's. 
just  above  Charleston, 


CHAPTER  X. 

WE  are  sorry  we  cannot  get  along  a  little  faster 
with  the  principal  incidents  of  our  story ;  it  might  be 
more  agreeable  to  the  reader,  and  it  certainly  would  be 
to  ourselves.  But  what  are  we  to  do  ?  We  cannot 
go  faster  than  the  persons  who  are  actors  in  it.  If 
Ben  Bramble  and  William  Henry  Ballenger  would  stop 
at  Squire  Templeman's  ;  if  the  squire  could  relate  an- 
ecdotes of  the  oldea  time  ;  if  William  Henry  would  sit 


70  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

in  the  porch  the  next  morning,  conversing  with  Helen 
Templeman,  when  he  ought  to  be  on  his  way  to  the 
Shades  of  Death  with  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  I  canriov 
help  it  or  myself.  As  to  leaving  them  behind,  that  is 
out  of  the  question.  It  would  reduce  this  veritable 
narrative  to  an  abstraction. 

Ben  Bramble  was  as  impatient  as  you  are,  gentle 
reader ;  the  horses  were  ready,  and  had  been  for  half 
an  hour.  The  dogs,  except  Young  Kate,  who  had 
been  left  at  New  Hope,  or,  to  say  the  truth,  would  not 
leave  Matilda  even  to  follow  her  master,  were  whining 
in  the  yard,  and  going  backward  and  forward  from  Ben 
g>  the  horses.  Ben  was  walking  off  his  impatience 
near  the  horses,  occasionally  glancing  at  the  gentleman 
and  lady  sitting  in  the  porch  ;  yet  he  did  not  start  off 
and  leave  his  companion  behind. 

But  the  worst  of  it  was,  that  neither  he  nor  ourselves 
gained  anything  by  the  delay  ;  for  William  Henry  and 
4iss  Templeman  spoke  in  so  low  a  tone  that  not  a 
dyllable  of  their  conversation  could  be  heard.     I  can 
therefore  only  describe  her  person,  and  tell  you  what 
she  was  doing  while  they  were  sitting  together.     Her 
form  was  very  much  like  that  of  William  Henry's  sis- 
ter, which  we  have  attempted  to  describe,  but  on  a 
scale  somewhat  larger.     Her  neck  was  not  so  tapering, 
her  arms  more  rounded,  and  her  bust  more  full.     Her 
hair  was  black  and  glossy  as  a  raven's  wing,  her  fore- 
head high  and  smooth,  her  nose  slightly  aquiline,  hei 
eyebrows  more  arched,  her  eyelashes  long,  separating 
the  flashes  that  darted  from  her  full  black  eyes.    \Vords 
are  inadequate  to  convey  a  just  idea  of  their  expression, 
it  was  such  a  combination  of  mischievous  archness  and 
liquid  softness.     Her  lips  were  more  full  and  ruddy 
than  those  of  Miss  Ballenger,  but  not  less  finely  form- 
ed.    Her  teeth  were  regular,  small,  and  white ;  her 
complexion  brunette,  but  her  skin  smooth  and  clear  as 
the  interior  of  a  conch-shell.     There  was  something 
in  the  cast  of  her  countenance  that  brought,  before  the 
mind's  eye  that  lovely  shepherdess,  the  beautiful  daugh- 
ter of  Bathuel ;  yet  no  drop  of  Jewish  blood  ran  in  her 


THE    RESCUE.  71 

veins ;  but  the  truth  must  be  told  :  she  was  of  Indian 
extraction,  lineally,  though  remotely,  descended  from 
that  princess  who  saved  the  life  of  Captain  John  Smith 
in  Virginia.  Her  mother  was  a  Randolph,  and  nearly 
related  to  one  of  that  name  who,  at  a  subsequent  period, 
filled  a  large  space  in  the  public  mind :  the  enthusi- 
astic admirer  and  extensive  owner  of  fine,  high-bred 
horses — the  accomplished,  classic,  eloquent  orator — the 
fearless,  sarcastic,  bitter  denouncer  of  political  delin- 
quencies, whose  long,  slender  finger,  pointed  at  an  ad- 
versary in  debate,  caused  him  to  feel  as  if  an  Indian 
arrow  were  aimed  at  his  bosom — the  most  extraordi- 
nary man,  in  person  and  in  mind,  of  the  age  in  which 
he  lived — the  most  erratic  and  eccentric. 

Miss  Templeman  was  knitting  a  woollen  stocking: 
it  is  true,  young  ladies,  upon  my  honour.  The  de- 
scendant of  Pocahontas  was  knitting  a  woollen  stock- 
ing, for  her  father,  I  presume  ;  and  she  had  finished  it  to 
about  the  middle  of  the  foot :  what  happened  made  me 
take  particular  notice  of  that.  At  first  she  was  moving 
her  delicate,  taper  little  fingers  slowly  and  regularly, 
but  as  the  conversation  went  on,  so  did  her  fingers  fast- 
er and  faster,  until  I  could  see  that  she  was  dropping 
stitches  much  faster  than  the  young  gentleman  did 
words,  if  I  could  judge  from  the  motion  of  his  lips,  for 
I  could  not  hear  a  word  ;  and  as  he  drew  to  a  close, 
so  did  the  stocking.  It  was  the  shortest,  dubbidest, 
most  shocking  foot  that  ever  was  seen  to  a  woollen 
stocking.  Just  at  that  time  Ben  Bramble  put  his  closed 
fists,  with  his  thumbs  parallel,  up  to  his  mouth,  and 
blew  out  a  blast  so  loud  and  clear  that  the  lady  start- 
ed from  her  seat.  The  young  gentleman  seized  her 
hand,  and  making  a  hasty  adieu,  sallied  out.  Mount- 
ing their  horses,  he  and  Ben  moved  off. 

"  That  whistle,"  said  Ben,  "  has  started  many  a 
young  critter  in  the  woods  afore  now  ;  I  thought  I'd 
try  it,  any  how." 

"  You  are  in  too  great  a  hurry  this  morning,  Ben; 
you've  made  me  forget  my  rille." 

You  worn''  in  no  hurrv  though.    The  sun  raough 


72  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

have  gone  down  afore  you'd  have  found  it  out,"  said 
Ben.  "  Here's  your  shootin'  ir'n  :  I  fotch'd  it  out, 
suspicioning  that  you'd  want  to  go  back  to  look  for  it. 
That  sister  of  yourn,  Master  Will,  is  an  oricommon 
sharp-sighted  gal.  When  she  was  axin'  me  the  way 
to  the  Shades  of  Death,  I  couldn't  make  out  what  she 
was  arter :  she  seed  it  all  as  plain  as  a  wolf's  track 
around  a  sheep-pen,  and  she  didn't  know,  nuther,  that 
Squire  Templeman's  darter  warn't  raised  out  here  in 
the  Loop.  She's  a  new-comer  like,  as  well  as  you, 
Vlaster  Will,  and  like  will  take  to  like — it's  nat'ral. 
They  came  two  year  ago  from  the  old  settlements  in 
Viginny.  Her  mammy  died  soon  arter  they  got  here, 
and  the  squire  wanted  to  carry  Miss  Helen  back  to  her 
relations  'bout  Williamsburg  ;  but  she  said, '  No  ;  where 
you  stay,  father,  I'll  stay.'  I  heard  her  say  it  myself. 
Them  ar  the  sort  of  gals,  accordiu'  to  my  notions." 

"  And  mine  too,"  said  William. 

"  You  needn't  tell  me  that,"  said  Ben.  "  I've  seed 
the  signs  plain  enuf." 

They  pursued  their  way  to  the  ferry  on  the  New 
River,  where  Nat  Colly  and  Charley  Vandal  were  to 
meet  them.  The  road  down  the  cliff  from  the  Loop 
to  the  river  is  one  of  the  most  remarkable  in  the  Uni- 
ted States.  Every  person  should  see  it  who  is  apt  to 
be  disheartened  by  difficulties  at  first  sight  insurmount- 
able. Let  him  see  a  wagon  go  up  that  road,  and  take 
courage  in  any  enterprise.  Despair  was  afraid  of  that 
man  who  first  drove  a  team  up  that  cliff.  It  rises  to 
an  elevation  of  nearly  two  thousand  feet,  and  the  top 
is  not  more  than  that  distance  from  the  river.  The 
road,  or,  rather,  path,  runs  down  the  river  to  the  right 
from  the  ferry,  gradually  ascending  the  bank  till  it 
gains  an  elevation  of  twenty  or  thirty  feet ;  then  it 
turns  by  a  short  semicircular  cut  to  the  left,  and  pass- 
es back  and  above  so  near  the  first  line  that  it  seems 
parallel  to  it  till  it  reaches  a  point  immediately  above 
the  starting-place  at  the  ferry ;  then  another  turn  is 
made  to  the  right,  and  in  this  way  the  track  runs  Sack- 
ward  and  forward  on  the  eastern  face  of  the  cliff  to  the 


r 


THE    RESCUE,  73 

very  top.  The  turns  are  exceedingly  short  and  steep, 
requiring  a  skotch  behind  the  wheels  at  every  step. 
When  the  summit  is  reached,  although  miles  have 
been  travelled,  you  look  down  into  the  river,  and  think 
you  could  pitch  a  biscuit  into  it.  To  get  up  this  road 
on  horseback  without  a  breastband  to  the  saddle,  or 
down  without  a  crupper,  is  out  of  the  question. 

As  Ben  and  William  descended  to  the  river  it  be- 
gan to  snow,  and  the  dogs,  Captain  and  Rover,  who 
frequently  lagged  behind,  smelling  on  the  logs  and 
bushes  by  the  roadside,  in  attempting  to  cut  across 
from  one  reach  in  the  road  to  another,  would  slip  and 
slide  on  the  newly-fallen  snow,  and  roll  down,  so  steep 
was  the  side  of  the  mountain.  When  they  were  about 
half  way  down,  Ben  suddenly  stopped  his  horse,  and 
before  William  Henry  perceived  that  he  had  done  so, 
he  heard  the  crack  of  his  rille. 

•'  I've  stopped  yer  gobbling,"  said  Ben,  as  the  flut- 
tering of  a  wild  turkey  was  heard  fifty  yards  to  their 
right;  and  William  Henry,  turning  his  eyes  in  the  di- 
rection of  the  sound,  saw  the  bird  flapping  his  wings 
upon  the  snow  in  the  dealh  struggle. 

"  Lost,  Captain,  lost !"  cried  Ben. 

The  dog  darted  off',  and  with  great  difficulty  lugged 
the  large  gobbler  to  their  horses'  feet,  where  Ben  was 
standing  reloading  his  gun.  He  had  sent  the  ball 
through  the  head  of  the  turkey,  a  tioble  bird,  with  his 
glossy  russet  plumage,  and  a  beard  of  black  hair  near 
a  foot  long  projecting  from  his  breast.  Ben  tied  him 
by  his  feet  behind  his  saddle,  and  as  he  mounted  old 
Skewbald,  as  he  called  his  horse,  he  said, 

"  If  they've  got  no  meat  at  the  ferry,  we  sha'n't  want 
something  for  supper,  for  we  stay  thar  to-night.  This 
is  a  fifteen  or  twenty  pounder,  and  as  fat  as  butter. 
We  can  do  nothing  till  it  stops  snowing,  which  it  won't 
do  afore  night,  if  it  does  then." 

"What's  Long  Nancy  bin  barkin'  at?"  cried  Nat 
Colly,  as  they  approached  the  ferry,  where  he  and 
Charley  Vandal  had  arrived  before  Ben  and  William 
Henry,  and  were  waiting  for  the  boat. 


74  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  Nothin'  but  a  turkey,"  said  Ben. 

"  I  tell  you,  he's  a  whopper,"  said  Charley,  raising 
the  bird  from  the  side  of  the  horse. 

"  You  were  right,  Nat,  when  you  said,  coming  down 
the  cliff,  you  heard  a  gobbler  talking  to  himself,  for 
here  he  is,  sure  enough." 

It  was  wonderful  to  see  how  the  dogs  of  these  men, 
and  even  their  horses,  recognised  each  other  the  in- 
stant they  approached.  It  was  as  manifest  that  they 
were  familiar  acquaintances  and  cronies  as  their  mas- 
ters. Nat  had  four  dogs,  and  Charley  five ;  and  they 
all  met  Captain  and  Rover  wagging  their  tails,  and 
rubbing  their  noses  against  each  other  with  great  ap- 
parent pleasure.  And  the  horses,  as  they  came  up, 
whinnied  and  closed  up.  As  Charley's  mare  came 
up  to  old  Skewbald,  she  thrust  herself  between  him 
and  William  Henry's  horse,  laying  back  her  ears,  and 
nipping  at  him  as  if  she  was  protecting  him. 

"  Look  at  that,"  said  William  ;  "  she  knows  my 
horse  is  a  stranger." 

"  Why,  she  knows  old  Skew  as  well  as  I  do,"  said 
Charley.  "  Many  a  scramble  they've  had  together 
over  these  hills,  and  many  an  hour  they've  eaten  the 
pea-vines  in  these  woods,  or  stood  tied  to  the  limbs  of 
the  trees  side  by  side.  She  believes  in  old  Skew 
strong.  She'd  let  him  take  a  ear  of  corn  out  of  her 
mouth  any  time  without  backing  her  ears." 

They  crossed  the  deep-blue  waters  of  the  river  in 
a  crazy  old  ferry-boat,  and  ascended  the  bank  to  the 
house.  On  reaching  the  door,  Charley  bawled  out, 

"  Hellow  !  the  Loop's  on  ye,  Boyer,  dogs,  horses, 
and  all." 

"  Come  in,  come  in,"  said  a  tall,  raw-boned,  dark- 
haired  man.  "  Where  away  now,  Charley  ?" 

"Only  up  the  cliff  a  bit,  to  give  this  young  gentle- 
man from  the  old  settlements — Mr.  Ballenger,  Captain 
Boyer — a  notion  of  what's  in  the  Shades  of  Death." 

"  Glad  to  see  you,  Mr.  Ballenger  ;  walk  in.  Why, 
here's  Ben  and  Nat,  too,  as  I  live.  Come  in,  boys, 
out  of  the  snow.  I'll  have  the  critters  put  in  the  lot 


THE    KESCUE.  75 

and  tended  to.  Faith  !  here's  a  fine  turkey.  I  thought 
it  \v;is  the  crack  of  Long  Nancy  I  heard  a  while  ago. 
So,  Ben,  you  can't  let  my  fowls  alone  ?  You  mistook 
this  for  a  wild  one,  I  suppose.  But  he's  been  raised 
in  my  corn-field  here.  I'll  have  a  warrant  agin  you, 
Ben." 

"  Why,"  said  Ben,  "  I  know'd  you'd  want  him  for 
supper  to-night,  and  I  only  thought  to  save  you  the 
trouble  of  calling  him  up." 

"  Well,  if  that's  the  case,  I  must  let  it  pass  this 
time,"  said  Boyer.  "  But  all  the  pheasants  and  tur- 
keys in  these  woods  is  my  domestic  fowls.  You  Ro- 
ver, what  the  devil  you  arter  thar,  pullin'  down  that 
bar-skin  ?  Walk  in,  Ben." 

Ben  accepted  the  invitation,  and  in  a  short  time  was 
followed  by  Boyer  himself,  who,  shaking  the  snow 
from  his  coat  arid  hat,  and  going  to  a  side  cupboard, 
brought  out  a  large  case  bottle  and  a  horn  tumbler. 

"  Come,  boys,  here's  a  little  of  the  raal  critter — old 
rye,  all  the  way  from  Rockin'ham.  Take  a  pull,  Mr. 
Ballenger,  and  melt  them  snow-flakes  on  ye." 

Every  one  except  William  Henry  took  the  raw, 
undiluted  spirit,  and  after  it  a  draught  of  water. 

"  What's  the  chance  for  a  bar  in  the  Shades,  cap- 
tain ?"  asked  Charley. 

"  Not  good,"  replied  the  captain.  "  This  little  sniff 
of  snow'll  drive  'em  all  into  winter-quarters.  They 
can  smell  it  long  afore  it  comes  down,  and  they  get 
under  cover,  like  prudent  people.  That  one  that  you 
see  the  skin  on  nailed  agin  the  house,  if  Rover  hain't 
pulled  it  down,  come  down  here  yesterday,  jest  as  if 
he  wanted  me  to  ferry  him  over  the  river  into  the 
Loop.  His  quarters  is  over  there,  I  guess,  and  smell- 
in'  this  snow,  he  was  makin'  for  home,  when  I  hap- 
pened to  see  him,  and  tuck  him  up  for  hog-stealin'  this 
side  the  river.  I  wish,  Charley,  you'd  keep  your 
rogues  at  home.  It's  ongenerous  to  let  'urn  rob. us  poor 
folks  over  here." 

"  We  can't,"  said  Charley.  "  They've  got  so  many 
relations  and  friends  this  side,  they  must  be  visitin'  on 


76  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

'em  constant.     What'll  you  take,  captain,  to  ferry  them 
over  by  the  year,  backward  and  forward  ?" 

"  Ten  pounds  of  powder  and  forty  of  lead,"  said  the 
captain,  "  if  you'll  throw  in  a  good  wad  of  tow  and  a 
dozen  flints." 

In  this  bantering,  half-jesting,  half-earnest  style  of 
conversation,  these  men  spent  the  evening.  It  still 
continued  to  snow  ;  but  Ben  Bramble,  who  had  been 
out  of  doors,  said  the  morning  would  be  fair,  clear, 
and  cool.  "The  wind,"  said  he,  "has  changed,  and 
blows  fresher,  and  the  flakes  fall  bigger,  and  furder 
apart." 

Just  at  nightfall,  a  rough,  keen-eyed  fellow,  and  an 
elderly  woman,  whom  he  called  Mrs.  M'Cloud,  asked 
for  quarters.  The  man  was  walking,  and  the  woman 
riding  a  shabby  horse,  followed  by  another,  carrying  a 
large,  heavy  pack.  They  were  conducted  into  an  ad- 
joining room  at  the  request  of  the  woman,  who  insist- 
ed on  helping  the  man  to  carry  in  the  pack,  as  well  as 
her  own  bundle.  When  supper  was  ready,  they  de- 
clined Captain  Boyer's  invitation  to  partake  of  it,  and 
soon  laid  themselves  down,  in  different  corners  of  the 
room,  on  blankets  taken  out  of  their  pack.  There  we 
will  leave  them  for  the  present,  and  return  to  the  lar- 
.  ger  room,  in  which  the  hunters  were,  and  in  which 
the  supper-table  was  set  out.  We  shall  say  nothing 
of  the  eating  of  that  supper,  nor  of  the  good  appetite 
with  which  it  was  discussed  ;  but  as  the  cocking  was 
in  a  style  somewhat  different  from  that  which  is  usual 
at  the  present  day,  we  will  step  into  thfe  kitchen,  and 
see  how  that  important  art  was  performed  on  turkey 
and  bear  meat  in  that  country  at  that  time,  for  of  these 
and  dried  venison,  ham,  and  corn  bread  the  supper 
consisted  That  same  square  bottle  that  we  have 
mentioned  was  still  on  the  table,  though  it  did  not 
stand  still  during  all  the  time.  After  the  turkey  was 
prepared  in  the  usual  way  for  roasting,  a  long,  sharp, 
narrow  knife  was  passed  around  the  thigh  bone  up  to 
the  hip  joint,  separating  the  flesh  from  the  bone  ;  the 
bone  was  then  extracted.  In  the  same  manner,  the 


THE    RESCUE.  77 

wing  bones  were  taken  out.  An  incision  was  then 
inadu  from  the  inside  of  the  body,  and  the  breast  bone 
was  taken  out,  and  those  articulated  to  it,  passing  on 
to  the  back  below  the  neck.  These  operations  were 
performed  with  a  facility  which  proved  the  perfect 
knowledge  of  the  cook  with  the  anatomy  of  turkeys  at 
least.  Flitches  of  fat  bacon,  peppered  and  salted,  and 
rolled  in  flour,  were  inserted  into  the  legs  and  wings ; 
and  the  internal  cavity  was  filled  with  a  compound  of 
cold,  light  bread,  crumbled  fine,  and  kneaded  up  with 
bear's  fat,  salt,  and  pepper.  All  the  apertures  were 
•closed,  a  string  tied  around  the  neck  close  to  the  body, 
and  the  turkey  was  then  suspended  by  the  legs  by  a 
cord  before  the  bank  of  clear  coals  that  filled  the  whole 
fireplace.  A  short-handled  frying-pan  was  placed 
beneath  to  receive  the  drippings. 

The  lean,  fresh  bear's  meat  was  cut  into  steaks,  and 
the  fat  pieces  into  similar  steaks ;  these  latter  were 
salted  and  peppered,  and  a  wooden  skewer  or  spit, 
three  feet  long,  was  thrust  through  the  middle  part  of 
a  lean  steak,  and  then  of  a  fat  piece,  alternately,  till 
the  stick  was  full.  This  was  also  hung  up  before  the 
fire  perpendicularly,  but  it  was  occasionally  taken 
down,  slightly  dredged  with  flour,  held  horizontally 
over  the  coals,  and  again  suspended  over  the  skillet 
which  caught  the  gravy.  The  bear  meat  and  bread 
were  not  put  to  the  fire  till  the  turkey  had  been  revolv- 
ing before  it  for  one  hour  and  thirty-seven  minutes. 
They  were  all  brought  in  brown  and  smoking  hot. 
The  gravies  were  placed  on  the  table  in  two  tin  pans. 
While  William  Henry  was  smacking  his  lips,  after  ta- 
king a  piece  of  bread  which  had  been  dipped  into  a 
portion  of  the  turkey  gravy,  Captain  Boyer  said, 

"  I've  seen  somewhere  before  this  man  in  the  other 
room,  and  I've  been  trying  to  recollect,  but  I  can't 
make  it  out.  Indeed,  I  see  so  many  strange  faces 
nowadays  at  the  ferry,  that  it's  hard  to  remember 
them." 

"  He's  a  queer-looking  chap,"  said  Charley,  "  from 
Buncombe,  in  North  Carolina,  I'll  lay  a  wager." 


78  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  I've  seen  the  woman,"  said  Ben  Bramble,  "  a* 
Lewisburg,  selling  chickens  and  eggs,  and  a  drunken 
old  man  with  her,  that  I  tuck  for  her  husband." 

"  I  noticed  the  man's  hands  particular,"  said  Colly, 
"  and  he's  no  common  workin'  man,  that  I'll  swear  to." 

As  we  happen  to  know  more  about  this  man  and 
woman  than  any  of  the  party  at  the  table,  and  as  they 
are  connected  with  our  tale,  we  shall,  while  the  turkey 
and  other  viands  are  disappearing  from  the  table,  give 
our  readers  some  information  relating  to  them.  Polly 
M'Cloud  had  been  the  wife  of  an  old  soldier,  original- 
ly possessed  of  a  strong  mind,  which,  in  his  latter 
days,  was  destroyed  by  strong  drink.  Although  poor, 
he  had  bought  and  added  to  his  own  the  lands  of  many 
of  his  comrades  ;  but,  before  he  could  either  improve 
or  sell  them,  his  insidious  foe,  bald-faced  whiskey,  had 
rendered  him  inert  in  thought  arid  action.  Isaac  For- 
ster  heard  of  him  and  his  lands,  went  to  see  him  in 
Greenbrier,  where  he  lived  in  a  miserable  cabin  on 
rented  land,  wheedled  the  old  dotard  into  an  agency 
for  the  management  of  his  lands,  and  made  a  will  for 
him,  which,  in  fact,  would  render  Mr.  Forster  execu- 
tive owner  of  all  that  he  should  leave  behind  him, 
which,  except  his  lands,  was  almost  nothing.  Old 
M'Cloud  had  often  heard  of  honest  Isaac  and  his  able 
management  of  landed  estates  in  the  West  for  the  gen- 
tlemen of  Old  Virginia. 

Shortly  after  these  transactions,  old  Billy  M'Cloud 
died,  leaving  his  widow  and  a  daughter  Catharine,  a 
very  pretty  girl  of  fifteen.  Isaac  took  a  liking  to  her 
as  well  as  the  lands,  and  the  old  woman  favouring  his 
attention  to  the  daughter,  Isaac  succeeded  in  making 
her,  not  his  wife — a  thing  he  never  intended — but  the 
wretched  victim  of  his  heartless  passion,  promising 
most  sacredly  afterward,  in  the  words  of  the  mother, 
"  to  make  her  an  honest  woman."  The  mother,  though 
apprehending  now  the  worst,  and  determined,  if  possi- 
ble, to  conceal  the  shame  of  her  daughter,  smothered 
at  its  birth  the  offspring  of  the  unhappy,  deluded  girl. 
Whether  she  was  intoxicated — for  she,  like  her  hus- 


THE    RESCUE. 


79 


band,  had  yielded  to  this  destructive  habit — or,  being  a 
very  silly  woman,  had  been  influenced  by  Isaac  For- 
ster's  saying  to  her  that  little  children,  when  they  die, 
go  straight  to  heaven,  we  know  not.  Both  may  have 
strengthened  her  determination  to  put  the  child  out  of 
the  way.  The  poor  mother  thought  of  the  hapless 
babe,  and  perhaps  suspected  some  foul  play,  for  she 
raised  herself  on  her  bed,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Oh !  mammy,  give  me  my  child.  I  call  Heaven 
to  witness,  Mr.  Forster,  that  it  is  yours,  and  if  any 
harm  comes  to  it,  you  will  have  to  answer  for  it,  as 
well  as  for  my  ruin,  to  the  God  of  heaven,  before 
whom  you  promised  to  marry  me.  Oh!  Mr.  Forster, 
take  care  of  my  poor,  innocent  child.  Oh  !  sir,  you 
know  it  is  yours  as  well  as  mine.  Hand  it  here, 
mammy." 

"  The  poor  thing  is  dead,"  said  Polly  M'Cloud. 

"  Dead !"  shrieked  the  mother.  "  O  God !  I  know 
it  was  alive.  Give  it  to  me,  oh !  my  mother." 

She  took  the  child  in  her  arms,  looked  at  its  livid 
face,  pressed  it  to  hers,  screamed  aloud,  and  fell  back 
on  the  bed  in  convulsions.  She  never  rose  from  it. 
Fit  succeeded  n't,  and  she  died  in  delirium.  The 
mother  and  child  were  placed  in  the  same  grave,  and 
Isaac  Forster  returned  to  Kanawha.  Nothing  was 
known  of  these  transactions  but  the  death  of  Catharine 
M'Cloud  and  her  child ;  nor  were  the  causes  of  her 
death  or  of  her  child's  known  to  any  persons  except 
Polly  M'Cloud  and  Isaac  Forster.  The  people  of  the 
neighbourhood  never  dreamed  of  connecting  them  with 
Isaac  Forster;  for  it  was  thought  that  a  young  man 
who,  some  time  before,  was  known  to  be  a  suiter  of 
Catharine  M'Cloud,  had  been  her  seducer.  He  had 
left  that  part  of  the  country.  Isaac  Forster  spoke  of 
him  in  strong  terms  of  indignation,  openly  attributing 
his  disappearance  to  his  maltreatment  of  Mrs.  M'Climd's 
daughter.  He  called  him  a  villain,  a  seducer,  and  the 
murderer  of  an  abused  young  woman.  ^p 

In  a  short  time  after  these  events,  Isaac  paid  a  visit 
to  Polly  M'Cloud.  She  threatened  him  \\ith  disci. >- 


80  NEW  HOPE;  OB, 

sure,  and  extorted  money  from  him.  He  promised  to 
pay  her  more  in  a  short  time,  and  then  returned  to  his 
own  house.  Instead,  however,  of  going  again,  he  sent 
this  man,  who  stayed  some  weeks,  and  he  and  Polly 
M'Cloud  are  now  on  their  way  to  his  house,  or  to  some 
place  to  which  she  has  thought  fit  to  accompany  him. 


CHAPTER  XL 

WE  left  the  hunters  with  Captain  Boyer  at  the  sup- 
per-table. After  discussing  a  portion  of  the  good 
things  before  them,  and  the  probabilities  of  finding 
game  on  the  following  day,  which  would  certainly  be 
fair,  as  the  clouds  had  dispersed,  the  wind  lulled,  and 
the  stars  shone  out  on  the  cold,  bright  dress  in  which 
the  earth  was  arrayed — laid  out  in  a  winding-sheet  of 
snow — they  laid  themselves  down  to  rest  on  blankets 
before  the  fire.  Captain  Boyer  offered  a  bed  to  Will- 
iam Henry  Ballenger,  but  he  declined  the  offer,  say- 
ing, "  I  mean  to  be  a  veritable  backwoodsman  in  sleep- 
ing as  well  as  in  eating  ;  and  you  have  seen,  Captain 
Boyer,  that  I  can  play  my  part  in  the  latter,  at  least, 
as  well  as  Nat  or  Charley."  They  were  all  soon 
asleep. 

How  beautiful  is  a  cloudless  morning  in  December, 
when  the  earth  is  covered  with  snow,  and  the  rays  of 
the  rising  sun  are  reflected,  and  broken,  and  thrown 
around  by  the  clear,  cold  crystals  of  hoar  frost !  The 
glitterings  of  the  short-lived  diamonds  are  flashed  forth, 
and  mingled,  and  interwoven,  forming  a  dazzling  and 
meshy  web  of  solar  light  over  the  surface  of  the  earth, 
and  every  tree,  and  twig,  and  fence  is  incrusted  with 
the  glittering  grime,  throwing  around  them  an  atmo- 
sphere of  roseate  light.  And  that  feeling  of  vigour  arid 
elas^fe  energy  that  comes  over  us  on  such  a  morning, 
and  braces  us  for  its  enjoyment,  oh !  it  is  delightful.  To 


THE    RESCUE.  81 

breathe  the  fresh  air  and  look  abroad  inspire  us  with  de- 
light. Such  was  the  morning  on  which,  after  an  early 
and  hearty  breakfast,  Ben  Bramble  and  his  companions, 
with  William  Henry  Ballenger,  left  the  ferry-house  on 
New  River,  and  ascended  the  eastern,  precipitous  path 
that  leads  towards  the  Shades  of  Death. 

"  Is  it  meat  or  sport,  boys,  you  want  to-day  ?"  in- 
quired Nat  Colly  ;  "  for  I've  brought  the  cow-bell  from 
the  ferry." 

"  Cow-bell !"  exclaimed  William  Henry ;  "  what  in 
the  world  has  a  cow-bell  to  do  with  hunting  ?" 

"  Nat,"  said  Ben  Bramble,  "  you  must  tell  the  boy. 
He's  axin'  in  arnest,  and  don't  know  the  use  of  nothin' 
yit,  'cept  the  rifle.  He's  larnt  to  shoot,  and  that's  all." 

Nat  stared  hard  at  William  Henry,  and  said,  "  Why, 
it's  true,  I  b'leve,  he  don't  know  the  use  of  a  cow-bell 
in  huntin'  when  you  only  want  the  meat.  Well,  young 
gentleman,  thar's  three  sorts  of  huntin'  deer  in  these 
woods  :  Stand  huntin',  Still  huntin',  and  Bell  huntin'. 
When  some  of  the  hunters,  with  their  dogs,  goes  into 
the  drive  and  chases  the  deer  out,  we  know  the  places 
where  they  will  come  out ;  men  stand  at  them  places, 
and  shoot  'ern  down  as  they  run  by:  that  is  stand 
huntin',  or  drivin'  for  deer ;  but  onless  the  man  at  the 
stand  can  hit  a  streak  of  lightnin',  thar's  more  fun  than 
meat.  To  be  sure,  good  dogs  may  run  'em  down  and 
kill  'em ;  but  they  oftener  gets  clean  away,  or  takes 
water.  This  sort  of  huntin'  is  for  gentlemen  who's 
got  a  meat-house,  and  something  in  it.  In  still  huntin' 
thar's  no  dog  needed ;  you  go  about  whar  you  know, 
from  experience,  the  deer  feeds,  laming  to  stand  as 
still  as  a  dead  tree,  and  when  you  move,  movin'  as 
light  and  quick  as  moonshine  from  behind  a  cloud  : 
see  quick,  step  quick,  shoot  quick,  and  you'll  git  meat 
and  skins  enuf  when  deer's  plenty.  The  Injuns  most- 
ly kill  deer  in  this  way.  Bell  huntin'  is  done  when 
the  ground  is  kivered  with  snow,  as  it  is  now.  When 
the  track  of  a  deer  is  found,  or  they  are  started  up,  a 
man  with  a.bell  atin  klin',  like  as  it  were  a  cow,  follows 
the  track,  and  the  rest  of  the  hunters,  ridin'  or  runnin' 
4 


82  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

a  good  way  off,  hearin'  the  bell  which  way  it's  gwine, 
rides  or  runs  off  ahead  that  way,  and  when  the  deer, 
who  ain't  afeard  of  the  bell,  comes  along  not  far  before 
the  bell-man,  they  shoot  him  down.  I  don't  say  nothin' 
of  standin'  at  a  lick  in  the  night,  and  shootin'  'em  down 
like  a  steer  at  a  salt-trough  ;  nor  of  shinin'  their  eyes 
with  a  light  in  the  dark,  caze  that's  onfair  and  danger- 
ous to  other  critters,  as  Charley  can  tell  you,  Mr.  Bal 
lenger." 

"  What  if  I  did  kill  Huff's  old  mare  ?"  said  Charley  ; 
"  she  wara't  worth  nothin',  though  I  paid  for  her. 
You  never  will  forget  that,  Nat.  You  used  to  hunt 
yourself  at  night  till  you  got  that  scare  at  the  burning 
spring,  and  sot  the  Kanawha  River  on  fire." 

"  Come,  now,"  said  William  Henry,  "  don't  be  po- 
king your  fun  at  me.  Mr.  Charley  Vandal,  so  slyly  in 
that  style." 

"  It's  a  fact,"  said  Charley  ;  "  ask  Ben  ;  he  knows 
it's  the  real  truth." 

"  He  sot  the  river  a  fire,"  said  Ben,  "  that's  sartain  ; 
and  he  said  he  was  scared,  but  I  don't  know  how  that 
is  ;  I  never  seed  him  so  yit,  and  we've  bin  together  in 
fixes  whar  a  man's  mity  apt  to  show  what's  in  him." 

"  If  you'd  bin  with  me  that  night,"  said  Nat,  "  you'd 
have  believed  it,  and  seed  it  too.  There's  no  use  ly- 
ing about  it :  I  was  scared  a  little  of  the  worst ;  and 
I  had  cause  to  be.  If  it  warn't  a  ghost  or  a  sperrit,  it 
was  somethin'  onnat'ral,  any  how,  and  I  warn't  gwine 
to  stand  thar  in  the  woods  of  a  dark  night  by  myself, 
and  be  done  I  don't  know  what  to  by  somethin'  that  I 
never  seed  the  like  on  afore  nor  since.  I  was  a  hunt- 
in'  on  the  hills,  Mr.  Ballenger,  and  had  a  light  along, 
and  I  thought  I  seed  somethin's  eyes  a  shinin'  in  the 
bushes  about  a  hundred  yards  from  me  on  the  hill  side 
above  me  ;  so  I  stopped  a  minit  to  make  sure,  and  then 
went  on  towards  it.  Every  now  and  then  it  seemed 
to  shut  its  eyes,  so  that  I  couldn't  see  'em  for  half  a 
minit,  and  when  its  eyes  was  shot  it  made  the  most 
oncommonest,  onnat'ralest  noise  that  ever  was  heard. 
'Twas  like  the  mixin'  of  a  blacksmith's  bellows  and  the 


THE    RESCUE.  83 

hissing  of  a  thousand  spreadhead  snakes.  Then  its 
eyes  would  open,  and  it  seemed  to  be  cotnin'  right  to- 
wards me.  Agin  they  shot  up,  and  the  noise  was 
worse  than  ever,  and  gittin'  mity  close  to  me.  When 
they  opened,  it  seemed  all  but  teching  me.  Just  as  I 
raised  my  gun  to  fire,  it  shot  up  agin,  and  I  could  see 
nothin'  but  a  sort  of  a  wavering  mist  like,  that  nobody 
on  arth  could  take  aim  at,  and  the  noise  begun  agin. 
I  know'd,  if  it  travelled  as  it  did  when  it  shot  its  eyes 
afore,  'twould  be  on  me,  and  thar  was  no  time  to  lose 
— that  I  must  either  shoot  or  run ;  but  I  couldn't  see 
nothin'  to  aim  at,  so  I  cut  loose,  and  let  down  the  hill 
to  the  river,  and  if  I  didn't  leave  a  streak  of  light  be- 
hind me,  lightnin'  never  did.  I  thought,  once  or  twice, 
I  heard  it  behind  me,  and  close  too.  I  believed  I  was 
runnin'  my  best  before,  but  no  man  knows  how  fast  he 
can  run  till  he  feels  as  I  did  that  night.  Powell's 
quarter  horse,  Catchpenny,  couldn't  have  siled  me  corn- 
in' across  the  Kanawha  bottom.  I  made  but  one  jump 
from  the  bank  into  the  dug-out,  and  like  to  have  went 
beyant  her ;  it  sent  her  out  like  a  shot  from  a  shovel. 
I  dashed  the  light  into  the  water,  and  seezed  the  pad- 
dle. Instead  of  the  water's  puttiri'  out  the  light,  as  I 
am  a  livin'  man  the  river  kotch'd  a  fire,  and  blazed  up 
nearly  as  high  as  my  head.  I  didn't  paddle  slow,  I 
tell  ye ;  I  thought  the  world  was  comin'  to  an  eend 
pretty  quick.  I  never  know'd  how  I  got  out  on  that 
canoe,  nor  whar  I  was  till  I  found  myself  a  matter  of 
two  miles  from  the  river  by  Sam  Dyer's  potater  patch. 
I  didn't  know  then  thar  was  a  burnin'  spring  thar  on 
the  bank,  and  1  guess,  now,  as  I  knows  it,  that  some 
of  the  water  from  that  had  run  down  into  the  river, 
which  kotched  a  fire  from  my  light  instead  of  squench- 
in'  it." 

"  That  must  have  bin  it,"  said  Ben,  "  for  common 
water  won't  burn,  any  how  you  can  fix  it.  But  I  never 
could  conjectur  what  it  was  that  first  scared  you,  and 
gin  you  sich  a  race  down  to  the  river." 

"  Nor  I  nuther,"  said  Nat.  "  But  you  don't  catch 
me  night  huntin'  on  that  side  of  the  river  agin,  nor  no- 


84  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

whar's  else  by  myself,  and  that's  the  naked  truth.  Ever 
since  I'm  always  joubous  and  wary  like,  'specially  in 
the  dark,  if  I  sees  or  hears  anything  onnat'ral.  That 
night  took  more  courage  out  on  me  than's  ever  bin  put 
back  since." 

"  Tain't  the  lack  of  courage,"  said  Ben  ;  "  it's  a  sort 
of  superdition  like.  Horses  has  it  as  well  as  men. 
Let  one  get  thoroughly  scared  in  harness,  and  he  nev- 
er forgits  it  arterward.  It's  no  use  reasonin'  with 
him.  When  he  begins  to  trimble,  it's  come  upon  him, 
and  he  runs  like  Nat  across  the  Kanawha  bottom, 
and  is  no  more  fit  for  harness  than  Nat  is  for  a  night 
hunt.  Why,  they  say  Colonel  Will  Washington,  as 
brave  as  all  creation,  has  it  so  bad  that  he's  obliged  to 
take  a  nigger  boy  up  behind  him,  in  going  in  the  night 
from  one  neighbour's  house  to  another,  to  keep  that 
feeling  from  scaring  him  to  death." 

"  Well,  God  knows,"  said  Nat,  "  I  pitys  them  as  has 
it,  as  I  kotch  it  that  night ;  and  now,  when  I  sees  or 
hears  anything  oncommon  in  the  night,  I  feels  it  a 
creepin*  over  me." 

The  hunters  had  now  ascended  the  precipitous  hills 
near  the  river,  and  the  dogs,  who  were  well  trained,  had 
been  trotting  behind  the  party,  when  Charley  Vandal's 
old  Ruler  rushed  suddenly  to  the  front,  and  setting  up 
his  bristles,  began  to  growl  and  run  forward,  and  then  fly 
back  under  the  horses'  heels.  They  were  on  a  steep 
ridge  above  the  western  edge  of  the  Shades  of  Death. 

"  Look  out,"  cried  Charley :  "  old  Ruler  is  true  as 
steel — nothing  but  a  painter  or  a  wild-cat  can  bring  the 
old  fellow  to  them  capers." 

"  Stop  him,  Charley  !"  said  Ben  ;  but.  before  he  could 
even  majte  the  effort,  the  other  dogs  were  also  in  front, 
and  they  dashed  off  like  a  whirlwind. 

Such  a  crash  and  yell  William  Henry  had  never 
heard  before.  Charley  Vandal  was  off  in  an  instant 
at  full  speed,  cheering  the  dogs  with  a  halloo  that  made 
the  woods  ring. 

"  Hark !"  said  Nat :  "  did  you  hear  that  rush  through 
the  ivy  bushes  to  the  right  ?" 


THE    RESCUE.  85 

"  Yes,"  said  Ben  :  "  he's  waked  up  scared,  and  will 
take  a  tree  if  they  don't  come  upon  him  too  quick." 

"  What  is  it?"  said  William  Henry. 

"  A  painter,  sure,"  said  Ben  ;  "  and  see,  here  he  got 
his  supper  last  night,  and  laid  down  directly  after- 
ward. Look  at  his  track  in  the  bloody  snow  ;  he's  no 
kitten,  I  tell  ye." 

The  snow  was  all  ploughed  up,  and  stained  with 
the  blood  and  entrails  of  a  deer.  There  lay  the  horns 
and  legs,  and  a  part  of  the  carcass.  This  was  said 
and  seen  as  they  rode  rapidly  on  in  the  direction  of 
the  dogs. 

"  Stop,"  said  Nat.  "  They've  turned,  and  are  coin- 
in'  over  the  ridge  to  us  like  a  thunder-gust." 

A  moment  alter,  and  all  was  silent  for  half  a  minute, 
and  then  such  a  burst  of  sound  from  the  dogs  as  never 
rang  through  those  woods  before. 

"  Oh  !  that's  glorious  !"  cried  William  Henry.  "  It 
excels  all  the  music  I  ever  heard." 

"  He's  tuck  a  tree,"  said  Ben.  "  When  he  made 
his  leap,  and  the  dogs  come  up,  they  lost  the  scent, 
and  circled  round.  But  when  they  found  where  he 
was,  up  in  the  tree,  they  told  him  so,  pretty  quick  and 
loud,  too.  Only  hear  'em  wakin'  all  creation." 

Onward  they  rode  rapidly  towards  the  dogs,  and 
had  got  within  a  hundred  yards,  when  the  sharp  crack 
of  Charley's  rifle  was  heard,  the  heavy  fall  of  the  an- 
imal, and  the  piercing  shriek  of  a  dog,  and  a  most  sav- 
age growl. 

"  On,  boys !  on !"  cried  Ben,  "  or  there  won't  be  a 
piece  of  Charley  big  enough  to  bury.  He  won't  stand 
off  and  see  the  dogs  die." 

Ben  got  first  to  the  spot,  and  there  was  Charley  in 
the  midst  of  the  dogs,  within  a  few  feet  of  the  wound- 
ed, raging  animal,  with  his  knife  in  one  hand,  and  the 
large  limb  of  a  tree,  about  five  feet  long,  in  the  other. 
It  was  impossible  to  fire  without  killing  him  or  the 
dogs. 

Just  as  Ben,  who  had  leaped  from  his  horse,  ap- 
proached Charley,  and  before  he  could  get  his  hand 


86  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

on  him  to  jerk  him  away,  Charley  got  the  stick  into 
the  panther's  mouth,  and  leaning  forward  on  it  with  all 
his  might,  and  stooping  over,  could  just  reach  the 
breast  of  the  beast  with  his  knife.  At  that  instant  the 
stick  snapped  in  two,  and  he  fell  forward  on  the  ani- 
mal ;  but  so  true  was  his  aim  with  the  knife,  and  so 
admirable  his  presence  of  mind,  that  he  sent  the  sharp 
instrument  into  the  very  heart  of  the  panther,  not  with- 
out receiving  a  severe  wound  himself;  for  as  he  fell, 
the  panther  struck  at  him  with  his  paw,  and  raked  off 
his  coat-sleeve,  shirt,  and  a  part  of  the  flesh  from  his 
right  arm  and  shoulder  to  the  elbow. 

Ben  pulled  him  away  from  the  dying  animal,  and 
from  out  the  crowd  of  dogs,  who  were  growling,  and 
shaking,  and  tugging  like  infuriated  fiends. 

"  Why,  what's  got  into  you,  Charley,  to  turn  fool  all 
at  once,  and  git  to  clawing  with  a  painter  in  the  woods 
before  anybody  could  come  up  to  see  fair  play  ?"  said 
Ben. 

"  Thar  was  no  time  to  lose,"  said  Charley :  "  some- 
thing turned  my  ball,  and,  instead  of  hitting  him  in  the 
heart,  I  shot  him  through  the  loins  ;  and  he  no  sooner 
tech'd  the  ground  than  the  dogs  was  on  him.  He 
made  the  fur  fly,  I  tell  ye.  Didn't  you  hear  old  Ru- 
ler cry  out  for  help  ?  I  couldn't  stand  that." 

"  If  you  had  no  time  to  lose,  you  had  a  life  to  lose, 
and  you've  come  off  mity  well,  I  tell  ye,  with  that  rag- 
ged coat-sleeve.  Why,  boy,  he's  tore  your  arm,  too, 
and  spiled  your  fiddling,  I  fear,  for  one  Christmas." 

"  It's  nothing  but  a  scratch,"  said  Charley,  "  and  I'd 
have  given  half  the  flesh  on  my  arm  to  save  Ruler 
from  his  infernal  claws.  Whar  is  the  old  dog?  I  fear 
he's  hurt  worse  than  I  am." 

"  Thar  he  lies,"  said  Nat :  "  he's  gin  his  life  to  save 
yourn.  It's  all  over  with  him  ;  thar  he  lies,  with  his 
entrails  torn  out,  a  dying,  and  yit  he's  looking  right  up 
in  your  face." 

Charley  turned  to  the  dying  hound,  who,  so  soon  as 
he  saw  his  master's  eyes  upon  him,  wagged  his  tail 
and  attempted  to  crawl  to  his  feet,  and  actually  expi- 


TUB    RESCUE.  87 

red  in  the  effort.  Charley  Vandal  bent  over  him,  burst 
into  tears,  and  sobbed  like  a  child. 

Ben,  in  an  under  tone,  said  to  William  Henry, 

"  That  boy'll  lose  his  life  some  day  for  a  dog,  or 
some  gal  that  he  thinks  has  her  feelings  insulted. 
When  his  heart's  tech'd  he  forgits  that  he  has  but  one 
life  to  lose." 

Nat  Colly  had  stretched  the  panther  out  to  see  his 
size  and  form.  The  dogs  were  lying  panting  on  the 
snow,  cold  as  it  was. 

At  last  Charley  said,  looking  at  the  panther, 

"  He  shall  rot  without  a  skin,  any  how,  darn  his  in- 
fernal soul." 

"He  ought  to  give  you  his  jacket  to  mend  yourn, 
Charley,"  said  Ben  :  "  so  let's  off  with  it,  boys.  Char- 
ley, you  ain't  to  tech  a  knife  agin  to-day ;  come  here, 
and  let  me  bind  up  your  arm." 

This  he  did,  and  taking  out  his  own  handkerchief, 
made  a  sling,  into  which  he  placed  Charley's  arm. 

"  Now  set  down  on  that  log,  with  Master  Will,  and 
see  how  nicely  Nat  and  I  will  onrip  that  gentleman's 
yallcr  jacket  thar,"  said  Ben,  pointing  to  the  panther. 

It  was  surprising  to  see  with  what  dexterous  rapid- 
ity they  flayed  the  animal,  leaving  the  claws  attached 
to  the  skin.  It  was  then  fastened  on  Charley's  mare, 
behind  the  saddle,  and  the  party  mounted  and  moved 
slowly  away. 

William  Henry  had  loaded  Charley's  rifle,  and  of- 
fered to  carry  it,  and  insisted  on  it,  but  Charley  would 
not  permit  it. 

"  Well,  boys,"  said  Nat,  "  we  can  bell  a  deer  or 
two,  I  reckon,  a  little  furder  on,  if  this  mulatter  devil 
that  Charley's  kilt  hain't  scared  'em  all  off.  Charley 
and  I  will  ride  together  ;  my  horse  carries  a  bell  equal 
to  any  cow.  The  cry  of  the  dogs  has  roused  'em,  and 
we  shall  find  tracks  enough  in  the  snow.  We  must 
keep  the  dogs  back,  though,  or  we  shall  see  no  meat." 

"  Let  'em  follow  me,"  said  Ben  ;  "  there  are  no 
young  'uns  among  'em,  to  be  rattling  ther  tongues  like 
boys  and  gals  when  the  old  folks  leaves  'em  alone." 


88  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

He  got  down  and  put  a  small  leather  collar  around 
the  neck  of  Rover.  Every  dog  seemed  to  understand 
this,  for  they  slunk  to  the  rear  of  old  Skewbald,  and 
followed  his  heels  as  if  they  had  been  in  slips  or  lead- 
ing-strings. 

They  had  not  gone  more  than  half  a  mile  when  Nat 
said,  "  Here's  the  track  of  a  deer  making  off  in  a  long 
lope.  Come,  Charley,  let's  follow  him,  and  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger  and  Ben  can  make  the  circle  as  they  hear  the 
bell." 

He  took  the  bell  from  his  pocket  and  attached  it  to 
his  horse's  neck,  and  the  parties  separated.  Nat  and 
Charley  followed  the  track,  and  Ben  Bramble  and 
William  Henry  remained  stationary. 

After  some  time,  when  the  sound  of  the  bell  became 
indistinct  from  distance,  Ben  said,  "  Hear  that !  hear 
that !  Nat  has  made  a  sign,  by  a  shake  of  the  bell, 
that  he  sees  the  deer.  Now  we  must  ride  for  it  away 
in  front  of  whar  the  bell  is  going." 

Off  they  went  at  a  rapid  pace  through  the  woods, 
followed  by  the  dogs.  In  a  little  time  the  distinct 
sound  of  the  bell  denoted  its  approach. 

"  Stand  on  this  ridge,  and  if  he  comes  on  either  side 
or  on  the  ridge,  and  you  keep  a  sharp  look-out,  you 
will  see  him.  Look  and  listen,  though  —  he  makes 
mity  little  noise — he'll  pass  one  or  t'other,  sure." 

As  the  sound  of  the  bell  came  nearer  and  nearer, 
William's  heart  began  to  beat,  and,  turning  his  head  a 
little  to  the  left,  he  saw  in  the  open  woods  the  form 
of  the  beautiful,  agile  creature,  about  a  hundred  yards 
from  him,  bounding  lightly  over  the  bushes,  then  stop- 
ping to  listen,  then  again  clearing  the  copse  so  lightly 
that  it  made  no  noise.  It  was  approaching  obliquely, 
so  that  it  would  pass  very  near.  William  could  now 
hear  his  own  heart  beat.  Now  it  is  within  thirty  paces. 
He  raised  his  gun  and  fired.  Away  darted  the  deer. 
A  moment  after,  he  heard  the  sharp  report  of  Ben's 
rifle.  Mounting  his  horse,  he  rode  to  the  spot  where 
Ben  was  standing. 

"  Where  is  the  deer  ?"  said  William. 


THE    RESCUE.  89 

"  I  mought  ax  you  that,"  said  Ben.  "  I  see  you  fire 
at  him  when  you  could  all  but  tech  him  with  yer 
gun." 

"  I  missed  him,  however,"  said  William  Henry. 
"  It  is  amazing ;  I  would  have  laid  any  wager  that  I 
should  have  hit  his  heart,  and  didn't  touch  him  at  all.'" 

"  I  know'd  how  it  would  be  the  first  time  you  seed 
one  in  the  woods,"  said  Ben.  "  You  looked  at  him, 
but  forgot  to  look  along  the  gunbarrel.  Well,  yonder 
he  lies  in  the  hollow." 

"  This  is  astonishing  ;  he  was  running  like  the  wind, 
bounding  high  into  the  air  at  every  leap,  and  was  at 
least  seventy  yards  off'  from  you,"  said  William. 

"  Practice,"  said  Ben,  "  makes  parfect.  You'll  do 
better  next  time.  Most  young  men  has  the  buck-ager 
the  first  time  they  see  a  deer  comin'  towards  them,  if 
they've  got  a  gun  in  their  hands." 

Up  came  the  bell-men. 

"  Whar's  the  meat?"  said  Nat. 

"  This  young  man  said  he  seed  it ;  ax  him,"  said 
Ben. 

"  It's  no  use,"  said  Charley  :  "  I  had  two  fair  shots 
within  forty  yards  when  I  first  begun,  and  didn't  touch 
a  hair." 

"  That's  some  comfort,"  said  William,  "  for  I  missed 
the  deer  standing  still  not  thirty  yards  from  me  ;  but 
Ben  here  brought  him  down  at  full  speed  seventy  yards 
off,  I  should  think.  Isn't  it  ?"  said  William  to  Char- 
ley, pointing  to  the  deer. 

"  Fully,"  said  Charley  ;  "  nearer  eighty,  I  guess." 

William  got  off"  his  horse  and  stepped  the  distance 
to  the  deer,  and  cried  out,  when  he  reached  it,  "Sev- 
enty-six yards." 

"  Why,  that's  nothing  for  Ben ;  he'd  have  hit  him 
just  as  sure  at  a  hundred,"  said  Nat:  "  I've  seed  him 
do  it  often." 

The  deer  was  disembowelled,  and  hung  up  to  a  sap- 
ling bent  down,  which,  rising  again,  suspended  the 
deer  above  the  reach  of  the  wolves.  Nat  said,  "  We'll 
have  another,  presently ;  I  crossed  the  track  of  one 
4* 


90  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

making  down  this  ridge  not  half  a  mile  back  ;  so  come 
on." 

On  they  went,  as  in  the  pursuit  of  the  first ;  but  in- 
stead of  one,  there  were  two  deer.  And  William  Hen- 
ry was  so  fortunate  this  time  as  to  kill  a  fine  buck. 
The  doe  was  wounded  at  a  great  distance  by  Ben, 
who  then  let  slip  the  dogs,  which  caught  it  in  less 
than  a  mile  from  the  place  where  she  was  shot.  The 
party  now  returned  to  the  ferry,  well  satisfied  with  the 
day's  sport. 


CHAPTER  XII. 

WE  must  now  return  to  Polly  M'Cloud  and  the 
man  who  was  seen  with  her  at  the  ferry.  From 
the  time  of  Isaac  Forster's  last  visit  to  this  woman, 
he  had  determined  to  remove  her  by  some  mefens 
from  the  neighbourhood  of  Lewisburg,  the  scene 
of  her  wickedness  and  his.  He  feared  lest  she 
might  be  induced,  in  some  paroxysm  of  anger  or 
remorse,  or  in  some  fit  of  intoxication,  to  tell  tales, 
even  at  the  risk  of  her  own  life,  which  might  be 
attended  with  serious  consequences  to  him — might 
affect  at  least  his  fair  fame.  He  had  good  reason 
to  know  that  she  loved  money,  for  she  already  had 
made  use  of  her  secret  to  extort  it  from  him,  and 
he  thought  it  probable  that  she  might  take  it  into 
her  head  to  demand  more  than  he  was  willing  to 
give. 

Isaac  did  not  like  extortion  from  himself.  He 
had  seen,  or  thought  he  had  seen,  some  signs  that 
she  did  not  think  herself  too  old  to  marry  again. 
He  determined,  therefore,  to  take  advantage  of 
Polly's  feelings  to  save  both  his  reputation  and  his 
money.  He  invited  to  an  interview  with  him  a  cer- 
tain man  of  industrious  habits  "but  of  rather  sus- 


THE    RESCUE.  91 

picious  character,  who  was  occasionally  seen  in 
that  part  of  the  country,  and  then  disappeared  for 
months.  Nobody  knew  where  he  lived.  Perhaps 
at  that  time  Isaac  did  not,  though  we  strongly  sus- 
pect he  did. 

Isaac  began  the  conversation,  which  was  held  at 
his  own  house,  at  night,  by  saying  that  he  was 
the  executor  of  an  old  man  whose  widow  greatly 
needed  and  wanted  a  protector  and  a  home  at  pres- 
ent ;  that,  so  soon  as  he  could  have  the  lands  to 
which  the  old  man  had  been  entitled  surveyed,  his 
widow  would  have  for  her  portion  more  land  than 
she  had  any  idea  of;  that  she  was  quite  well-look- 
ing, much  younger  than  her  husband  had  been,  and 
he  thought  would  marry  again  if  a  suitable  offer 
should  be  made  ;  that  he  had  a  small  sum  of  money 
to  send  her  by  any  friend  who  would  undertake  to 
carry  it,  and  if  that  friend  should  be  pleased  with 
the  widow  M'Cloud,  he  might,  in  all  probability, 
take  her  home  with  him  instead  of  bringing  her  to 
his'house,  to  which,  if  she  did  not  find  some  pro- 
tector, it  would  be  necessary  to  invite  her. 

Isaac  said  it  was  very  convenient  and  safe  for 
men  who  carried  on  certain  trades  to  have  their 
cooking  and  washing  done  by  a  worthy  woman  at 
home.  It  saved  expense,  and  that  was  a  great 
thing,  without  taking  into  the  consideration  the 
pleasure  of  female  society  and  the  comfort  of  a 
good  wife  ;  that  this  lady,  he  believed,  could  keep 
a  secret,  a  rare  quality  in  man  or  woman  ;  that  she 
was  of  a  very  domestic  turn,  and  loved  to  stay  al- 
ways at  home. 

"  Now,"  said  Isaac,  "  if  any  friend  of  mine  should 
not  be  sufficiently  pleased  with  this  lady  to  marry 
her,  but  would  offer  her  a  home  in  his  house,  and 
his  protection,  I  will  support  her  till  her  land  is  al- 
lotted to  her  ;  and,  in  the  mean  time,  his  friend 
would  have  the  pleasure  of  her  society,  and  the 
cooking  and  washing  done  gratis." 

While  Mr.  Forster  was  thus  programming,  his 


92  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

friend  watched  the  expressions  of  his  face  like  a  di- 
plomatist, expecting  to  understand  him  rather  from 
them  than  from  those  of  his  tongue. 

"  I'm  your  man,"  said  he  to  Isaac  :  "  marry  or  no 
marry,  she'll  suit  me  exactly.  There  is  no  visit- 
ing at  my  house,  and  the  woman  that  goes  there 
will  have  to  stay,  whether  she  likes  it  or  not.  The 
one  that  I  had  last,  and  the  only  one,  never  set  her 
foot  over  the  door-sill  till  she  died.  Women  ought 
to  stay  at  home  and  mind  their  business.  Out-door 
work  has  to  be  done  by  men  ;  and  many  of  them 
are  hardly  to  be  trusted,  let  alone  women." 

"  True,"  said  Isaac.  "  But  you  had  better  not  tell 
her  all  that,  though,  till  you  get  her  home." 

"Devil  a  word,"  replied  his  friend:  "I  know 
women  too  well  for  that,  friend  Isaac.  Let  them 
see  nothing  but  the  bait  till  the  trap  falls — that's 
the  way  to  work  it." 

"There's  good  judgment  in  that,"  said  Mr.  For- 
ster.  "But  what  is  to  be  the  bait  1" 

"How  can  you  look  at  me,  Mr.  Forster,  and  ask 
that  question  1  Why,  my  likely  self,  and  a  plenty 
of  truth  and  lies,  too,  if  need  be,  of  what  I  can  do 
for  her ;  what  a  nice  place  I've  got,  and  your 
friendship  into  the  bargain,  Mr.  Forster." 

"  Well,"  said  Forster,  "  you  may  add  a  couple 
of  hundred  dollars  to  yourself,  my  friend,  to  buy 
new  furniture,  so  soon  as  I  know  you  have  the  bird 
in  the  cage." 

"  I'll  do  it  to  a  certainty,"  said  the  man,  "  wheth- 
er she's  willing  or  not.  They  will  hardly  let  you 
kiss  them,  you  know,  sometimes,  without  a  little 
struggle — a  little  force  :  they  like  it  in  men.  Be- 
sides, I  have  business  up  in  Greenbrier ;  part  of 
my  tools  are  there,  and  I  was  just  going  after 
them." 

"  Well,"  said  Isaac,  "bring  her  here  first,  if  you 
like,  provided  she  takes  the  bait,  and  comes  will 
ingly  ;  if  not,  you'll  have  to  wait  till  she  gets  in  the 
humour." 


THE    RESCUE.  93 

"  Or,"  said  Isaac's  friend,  "  till  I  run  away  with 
her." 

"There  will  be  no  need,"  replied  Isaac. 

"Widows  make  up  their  minds  very  quickly 
when  a  tempting  offer  is  made  by  a  likely  man, 
especially  if  they  are  a  little  oldish,  as  I  suppose 
she  is,"  said  Isaac's  friend.  "I'll  lay  you  a  wager 
of  fifty  dollars  I  carry  her  straight  home  in  three 
weeks." 

"  Done  !"  said  Isaac,  "  and  fifty  more,  if  you  dare. 
I  don't  doubt  but  that  you'll  do  it  in  time  ;  but  in 
three  weeks — bless  me — why,  that's  too  short  a 
time  to  court,  and  marry,  and  carry  home  even  a 
widow." 

"I  hold  you  to  the  bet,"  said  the  man.  "Mind, 
a  hundred  in  addition  to  the  two  hundred  if  the 
thing's  fixed,  leaving  out  the  marrying,  if  I  see 
cause,  in  three  weeks  from  this  day  1" 

"Agreed,"  said  Isaac;  "and  you  are  to  let  me 
know,  that  I  may  come  to  the  infair." 

"I'll  let  you  know;  but  as  for  the  infair,  I  can't 
afford  that." 

"Then  I  must  take  the  will  for  the  deed,"  said 
Isaac.  "And  now,  my  friend,  I  must  make  you 
acquainted  with  some  of  Mrs.  M'Cloud's  fanciful 
notions,  that  you  may  be  the  better  prepared  to 
carry  out  your  little  plan  for  her  advantage  and 
comfort.  She  thinks  that  a  man  never  goes  near 
a  woman,  or  looks  at  her,  or  pays  her  the  least  at- 
tention, unless  he  is  prompted  by  certain  feelings, 
which  women  call  love.  They  have  so  much  of 
that  in  their  own  hearts  towards  us,  that  it  is  natu- 
ral for  them  to  think  the  same  of  us.  When  they 
look  at  a  man,  it  is  always  either  to  know  whether 
they  can  love  him  or  let  him  love  them.  Mrs. 
M'Cloud's  husband  was  much  older  than  she  is,  and 
for  several  years  before  his  death  gave  all  his  love 
to  the  bottle,  so  that  you  may  say  she  has  been  a 
widow,  in  fact,  for  several  years.  She  had  a  daugh- 
ter, quite  a  nice  young  woman  to  look  at,  to  whom 


94  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

that  wild  young  scamp,  Harry  Dunton,  made  love  ; 
and  the  rascal  succeeded  in  gaining  her  love,  and 
in  making  her  believe  that  he  intended  to  marry 
her  ;  but  instead  of  that,  he  took  advantage  of  her 
feelings,  and  after  gratifying  his  passion,  left  her, 
and  has  gone  off  nobody  knows  where.  The  girl 
had  a  child,  and  both  she  and  it  died  immediately 
after  its  birth.  Now  Mrs.  M'Cloud  believes,  and 
will  believe  to  the  day  of  her  death,  that  every  man 
who  paid  the  least  attention  to  that  pretty  daugh- 
ter of  hers  was  in  love  with  her ;  that  even  I,  who 
was  there  only  occasionally  on  business  with  the 
father  in  his  lifetime,  flirted  with  Catharine ;  and 
in  order  to  please  my  vanity,  or  her  own,  I  don't 
know  which,  throws  out  hints  that  I  may  have  been 
the  father  of  Dunton's  child.  She  may  have  her 
private  views,  and  deeper,  too,  in  this — I  can't  tell 
what — perhaps  to  get  a  present  from  me  now  and 
then  .is  the  amount  of  it  all.  I  give  you  this  in- 
formation, that  you  may  make  any  of  these  circum- 
stances work  for  you  in  your  intercourse  with  her. 
It  is  perfectly  vain,  and  utterly  useless,  either  to 
contradict  her,  or  to  gainsay  any  of  these  fancies; 
for  if  she  takes  a  thing  into  her  head,  and  only 
imagines  it,  either  in  regard  to  her  late  husband's 
faults  or  failings,  or  her  daughter's  charms  or  lov- 
ers, she'll  swear  to  it." 

"I  understand — I  see  it  all,"  said  Mr.  Forster's 
friend.  "  I'll  abuse  the  old  man  and  praise  the 
daughter,  dead  though  they  be,  to  her  heart's  con- 
tent ;  and  swear,  too,  that  you  must  have  been  the 
father  of  Dunton's  child,  if  it  is  necessary  to  come 
round  her." 

"She  hated  Dunton,"  said  Isaac,  "and  dec. ares 
that  he  was  no  more  the  father  of  Catharine's  child 
than  she  was ;  that  her  daughter  never  took  up 
with  such  trash  as  Harry  Dunton.  If,  after  all,  she 
should  refuse  to  come  with  you,  you  might  hint 
that  the  money  sent  was  only  to  bear  her  expenses, 
and  pay  off  any  little  debts  j  that  I  had  a  consider- 


THE    RESCUE.  95 

able  sum  here  for  her  on  her  arrival ;  and,  besides 
that,  I  want  to  consult  her  about  the  lands,  and  to 
learn  from  her  on  which  of  the  tracts  she  would 
like  her  dower  to  be  assigned.  As  there  are  no 
houses  on  the  lands,  she  would  have  to  stay  here 
(for  her  rent  where  she  lives  is  due,  and  the  lease 
out  already),  and  she  might  take  it  into  her  head 
that  your  humble  servant,  on  better  acquaintance, 
might  be  pleased  with  the  mother  as  well  as  she 
fancied  he  was  with  the  daughter.  Wilder  notions 
have  entered  the  heads  of  some  women.  They  like 
to  have  two  strings  to  their  bow,  and  we  might  as 
well  have  two  to  ours.  This  will  be  better  than 
the  little  force  you  hinted  at — better  than  running 
away  with  the  lady." 

" Mr.  Forster,"  said  his  friend,  "you  are  quite 
too  deep  for  me.  As  the  lady  has  such  valuable 
lands,  and  you  are  the  executor,  I  begin  to  fear 
that,  if  I  bring  her  here,  you  might  make  love  to 
her  or  the  lands  in  earnest,  and  cut  me  out ;  so  I 
shall  try  to  be  beforehand  with  you,  and  mean  to 
court  her  in  the  way  a  widow  should  be  courted, 
not  forgetting  that  the  cooking  and  washing,  which 
I  shall  keep  to  myself,  are  more  necessary  to  me  than 
to  you.  How  far  does  she  live  from  Lewisburgl" 

"Not  more  than  three  miles  to  the  northeast," 
said  Isaac.  "  If  the  thing  cannot  be  managed  other- 
wise, the  miserable  cabin  in  which  she  lives  might, 
while  you  are  there,  catch  on  fire  some  night,  and 
you  might  save  her  life  by  dragging  her  out  of  the 
flames.  Women  are  very  grateful  creatures,  and 
she  might  marry  you  from  gratitude,  if  not  for  love." 

"  Or,"  said  his  friend,  "  might  be  driven  for  shel- 
ter to  your  hospitable  roof,  Mr.  Forster.  Well,  I 
must  say,  and  it  is  no  flattery,  sir,  that  you  are  a 
great  man — a  truly  great  man.  Good-by,  sirj  I 
shall  be  off  to-morrow." 

"  Success  attend  you,"  said  Isaac  j  "  here  are  ten 
dollars  for  Mrs.  M'Cloud,  with  my  compliments 
and  best  wishes." 


96  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

While  these  persons  were  thus  concerting  plans 
for  the  future  comfort  and  accommodation  of  the 
widow  M'Cloud,  Richard  Winter,  alias  Peter  Wil- 
cox,  alias  Joe  Swinton,  &c.,  &c. — for  this  gentle- 
man had  an  assortment  of  names,  from  which  it  had 
been,  and  might  be  again,  convenient  to  select  one 
for  temporary  use — had  looked  into  the  wavering, 
wandering  eyes  of  Isaac  Forster,  and  read  his  char- 
acter. He  knew,  before  this  interview,  that  Isaac 
loved  money,  and  was  not  over-scrupulous  as  to 
the  means  of  making  it ;  but  he  now  knew  not  only 
that,  but  that,  to  save  his  money  and  to  make  more, 
and  to  guard  his  reputation,  there  was  nothing,  ab- 
solutely nothing,  which  he  would  not  do  ;  that  he 
was  artful,  deeply  designing,  and  disposed  to  use 
other  men  as  mere  instruments  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  his  purposes,  whatever  they  might  be  ;  and 
he  arrived  at  the  conclusiojj,  and  rightly,  too,  that 
Mrs.  M'Cloud  was  in  possession  of  some  means  or 
secret  of  deep  interest  to  Isaac  ;  that  she  was  to 
be  conciliated,  or  put  in  a  situation  where  she  could 
not  give  publicity  to  something  that  he  greatly 
wished  to  be  forever  concealed. 

Joe  Swinton,  therefore,  determined  to  penetrate 
this  mystery  for  his  own  advantage.  He  was  re- 
solved, if  possible,  to  have  some  hold  on  Isaac 
which  should  bind  him  to  Joe  Swinton  ;  and  in  this 
resolution  he  found  still  stronger  motives  to  urge 
his  suit  with  the  widow.  Should  he  succeed,  he 
doubted  not  that,  in  some  unguarded  hour,  or  in 
some  moment  of  tenderness,  he  could  take  advan- 
tage of  the  "  mollia  temporal  to  steal  into  her  heart, 
and  possess  himself  of  its  hidden  secrets. 

Isaac  Forster  knew  this  man  only  as  a  counter- 
feiter and  forger,  whose  home,  wherever  it  might 
be,  was  not  accessible  to  the  world — not  visited  by 
any  except  his  confederates;  and  if  he  could  get 
Mrs.  M'Cloud  into  their  dwelling,  and  acquainted 
with  their  trade,  he  would  have  tolerable  security 
for  her  privacy  and  silence.  But  Richard  Winter, 


THE    RESCUE.  97 

alias  Joe  Swinton,  was  in  some  respects  as  great  a 
man  as  Isaac.  He  was  an  Englishman  who  had 
held  some  place  in  the  mint — had  been  convicted 
of  some  delict  or  delinquency  in  relation  to  mon- 
ey—  had  made  his  escape  to  America,  and  now,  in 
a  smaller  way,  was  furnishing  the  people  of  the 
West  with  a  circulating  medium  of  specie  and  pa- 
per, which  he  was  so  kind  as  to  manufacture  with 
his  own  hands.  It  was  certainly  as  sightly  and  as 
intrinsically  valuable  as  that  which  has  been  issued 
by  chartered  companies  and  corporations  sanction- 
ed by  law;  yet  legislators  punished  the  former  and 
shielded  the  latter  from  punishment  by  positive  en- 
actments. The  only  real  moral  difference  was, 
that  Joe  Swinton  cheated  on  a  more  limited  scale 
than  they — for  himself  and  a  few  others  ;  while  the 
officers  of  these  large  counterfeiting  institutions 
cheated  for  many  as  well  as  themselves.  They 
were  more  liberal  in  supplying  the  people,  lived 
in  finer  houses,  and  sported  finer  carriages  and 
clothes  ;  but  in  all  other  respects,  it  is  strange  such 
difference  should  be  made  "between  Tweedledum 
and  Tweedledee." 

Joe  Swinton  had  seen  much  of  the  world — had 
read  the  book  of  human  nature,  a  volume  which 
reveals  more  depravity,  wickedness,  and  crime 
than  has  ever  been  sketched  in  all  the  works  of  fic- 
tion that  have  ever  been  written.  In  this,  it  may 
be  said  that  "  truth  is  stranger  than  fiction."  He 
had  seen  so  much  vice,  such  an  ever-rolling  under- 
current of  deceit,  hypocrisy,  and  lies,  beneath  the 
stream  of  fair  and  plausible  life — so  much  sin  in 
seeming  saints,  that  the  very  face  of  virtue  seemed 
to  him  only  a  mask  to  hide  the  hideous  features  of 
vice.  It  is  no  wonder,  then,  that  he  looked  beneath 
the  surface  for  the  real  motives  of  Isaac  Forster. 
Swinton  was  quite  a  handsome  man,  if  features  rath- 
er than  expression  can  make  a  human  being  hand- 
some. He  was  about  thirty-five  years  old,  and  pos- 
sessed of  a  large  stock  of  self-confidence  and— 


98  NEW   HOPE  ;    OK, 

whiskers,  both  of  which  are  thought  to  increase  a 
gentleman's  chances  of  success  with  the  ladies.  A 
few  days  after  his  interview  with  Mr.  Forster,  Joe 
Swinton,  which  we  prefer  to  call  him,  though  he 
most  commonly  called  himself  Richard  Winter, 
well  dressed,  and  with  money  in  both  pockets,  ar- 
rived at  Lewisburg,  and  contrived  to  notify  Mrs. 
M'Cloud  that  a  gentleman,  a  friend  of  Mr.  Isaac 
Forster,  would  call  on  her  the  next  day.  He  was 
true  to  his  appointment,  as  people  generally  are 
when  they  expect  that  punctuality  will  advance 
their  important  interests — I  mean  those  in  which 
their  feelings  are  most  concerned.  He  found  Mrs. 
M'Cloud  a  better-looking  woman  that  he  expected, 
dressed  in  deep,  but  plain  mourning.  There  was 
something,  however,  about  the  cap  and  neck-dress 
that,  to  the  practised  eye  of  a  man  who  had  lived 
in  London,  told  that,  although  she  was  a  widow, 
she  thought  of  being  a  wife ;  that,  although  she 
might  still  mourn  for  her  buried  husband,  she  could 
be  moved  to  take  pity  on  living  men  j  and  he  thought 
he  could  see  lurking  in  one  corner  of  her  eye  the 
slight  shadow  of  personal  vanity. 

"Good-morning,  Mrs.  M'Cloud,"  said  he.  "I 
promised  my  friend  Forster  to  give  you  a  call  while 
in  this  neighbourhood,  and  hand  you  this  trifle" 
(disengaging  the  ten-dollar  note  from  what  seem- 
ed to  her  a  large  bundle  of  bank-notes),  "with  his 
compliments,  madam.  Richard  Winter  is  my 
name." 

"  I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Winter,"  said  she, 
receiving  the  note  and  courtesying.  "  Take  a  seat, 
sir,  if  you  please.  It  is  very  kind  of  Mr.  Forster 
to  remember  a  lone  woman  like  me,"  she  said,  with 
a  smile,  as  she  surveyed  his  fair  proportions  and 
fine  whiskers. 

"Upon  my  word,"  said  he,  fixing  his  eyes  upon 
her  with  as  much  admiration  as  they  could  express, 
"I  must  give  Isaac  a  lecture  for  deceiving  me  so 
completely.  Only  think,  madam,  of  his  telling  me 


THE    RESCUE.  99 

that  you  were  quite  an  elderly  lady,  and  that  I  should 
run  into  no  danger  in  delivering  his  message.  Con- 
found the  fellow,  he  must  think  that  everybody  is  as 
cold-hearted  as  he  is  himself." 

"  Law  !  now,  Mr.  Winter,  you  men  are  such  flatter- 
ers— can  hardly  look  at  a  lady  without  trying  to  put 
some  nonsense  into  her  head." 

"  'Pon  my  soul,  madam,  you  do  me  wrong.  I  am  no 
flatterer — I  despise  the  character  ;  but  I  must  candidly 
say  it,  I  am  an  admirer  of  the  ladies." 

"Here,  Nancy,"  said  Mrs.  M'Cloud,  "bring  some 
fresh  water.  I  can  offer  you  nothing,  sir,  this  cold 
day  but  a  drop  of  rye  whiskey." 

She  went  to  a  cupboard,  and  brought  out  a  bottle 
and  tumbler,  and  a  sugar-dish  and  teaspoon. 

"  Why,  madam,"  said  Mr.  Winter, "  that  is  the  most 
wholesome  spirit,  and  when  qualified  with  a  little  su- 
gar and  water,  very  palatable  too.  Permit  me  to  mix 
you,  madam,  just  a  little  ;  I  shall  feel  as  if  I  was  doing 
wrong  to  indulge  alone  in  your  house." 

"  I  scarcely  ever  taste  a  drop"  replied  the  widow ; 
"  but,  for  the  sake  of  good  company,  I  will  take  a  very 
little  to  make  you  welcome,  Mr.  Winter." 

He  mixed  it,  if  mixing  it  could  be  called  when  he 
put  at  least  fifty  parts  of  spirit  to  one  of  water,  but  he 
did  not  spare  the  sugar,  and  handed  it  to  the  lady  with 
great  grace.  She  sipped  a  little,  and  returned  the  tum- 
bler to  him. 

"  I  need  not  drink  to  your  health  or  good  looks,  my 
dear  madam,"  said  he,  raising  the  glass  to  his  mouth, 
'*  but  I  do  drink  to  your  happiness,  and  to  our  better  ac- 
quaintance and  friendship."  So  saying,  he  emptied 
the  glass. 

"  Now  don't  be  talking  so  to  me,"  said  the  widow  ; 
"  are  you  not  afraid  I  should  believe  you  to  be  in  ear- 
nest? Oh  !  Mr.  Winter,  you  men  are  too  bad." 

"In  earnest,  madam  1  I  never  was  more  so  in  my 
life  ;  and  as  a  proof  of  it,  I,  who  have  seen  much  of 
the  world,  and  know  the  value  of  punctuality,  promised 

gentleman  in  Lewisburg,  with  whom  I  have  business, 


100  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

that  I  would  not  be  absent  two  minutes,  and  I've  been 
here  half  an  hour,"  said  Mr.  Winter,  pulling  out  his 
watch,  which  was  a  very  showy  one. 

"Bless  me,"  said  the  widow,  "you  are  in  a  great 
hurry,"  as  he  took  up  his  hat  to  depart.  "  I  hoped 
you  would  spend  the  day  with  me ;  but  this  is  a  lone- 
some place,  sir,  for  a  gentleman,  I  suppose." 

"  I'll  prove  to  you,  madam,  that  I  do  not  think  so,  if 
you  will  permit  me,  for  I  have  business  that  will  detain 
me  some  time  in  this  neighbourhood,  and  I  shall  cer- 
tainly trouble  you  with  a  call  whenever  I  can.  Lone- 
some place  indeed !  no  place  is  lonesome  where  we 
meet  with  a  cheerful,  pleasant,  fine-looking  woman. 
I  pity  the  man,  I  must  say  it — for  it  is  the  truth — that 
would  be  lonesome  here." 

"  How  you  do  talk  !"  said  the  widow.  "  Well,  I  sup- 
pose I  must  pretend  to  believe  it  all,  and  ask  you  to 
call,  Mr.  Winter,  whenever  you  can.  How  long,  sir, 
will  you  be  in  this  neighbourhood  ?" 

'"  That  will  now  depend  on  circumstances  ;  but  a 
week  or  two,  certainly.  How  far,  madam,  does  the 
widow  Smith  live  from  you  ?  and,  by-the-vvay,  is  she 
young  and  handsome  ?" 

"  Not  far  off,  sir,"  said  Mrs.  M'Cloud.  "  She's 
young  enough,  to  be  sure,  but,  in  rny  opinion,  not  at  all 
handsome  or  agreeable.  If  you  will  go,  Mr.  Winter, 
I  hope  I  shall  see  more  of  you,  if  you  will  only  restrain 
that  flattering  tongue  of  yours.  Suppose  you  come  and 
eat  a  bit  of  dinner  with  me  to-morrow  ?" 

"  With  all  pleasure  in  the  world,  madam  ;  but  I  warn 
you  that  I  shall  bring  my  teeth  as  well  as  my  tongue, 
and  you  will  have  more  reason  to  complain  of  them 
than  of  it,  I  assure  you  ;  so  fare  you  well,  madam, 
till  to-morrow." 

She  kindly  presented  her  hand,  and  when  Mr.  Win- 
ter released  it,  there  could  be  seen  on  the  widow's  face 
an  expression  of  surprise  and  pleasure.  Why  the 
mere  shaking  of  hands  should  have  excited  such  feel- 
ings, we  cannot  tell.  As  he  rode  away,  the  widow 
M'Cloud  drew  a  long  breath,  which  was  very  like  a 
sigh,  and  said  to  herself, 


THE    RESCUE.  101 

"  Well !  this  Mr.  Winter  is  one  of  the  likeliest,  and 
politest,  and  most  agreeable  men  I  ever  saw  in  my  life, 
and  I've  seen  many  smart  men  too.  He's  so  sociable, 
and  easy,  and  gentlemanly  in  his  manners.  But  oh 
my  !  what  a  tongue  !  I  wonder  what  in  the  world  he's 
going  to  see  that  primpish,  forward,  ugly  thing,  the 
widow  Smith,  for  ?  I'll  declare  he  made  ine  feel  I 
hardly  know  how,  it's  been  so  long  since  I  felt  so  be- 
fore. Nancy,  come  here ;  get  ready  to  go  to  Lewis- 
burg  ;  bring  out  the  old  horse,  and  put  on  your  new 
dress  afterward  while  I  am  writing  a  note  to  Miss  Sal- 
ly Tomkins  ;  and  get  the  big  basket  that  we  carry 
things  to  market  in.  Put  the  things  that  you  buy — I'll 
tell  you  what — in  the  bottom,  and  the  things  that  she 
gives  you  in  the  bandbox  on  the  top." 

Nancy  went  to  Lewisburg,  and  returned  in  the  even- 
ing. What  was  brought  back  in  the  basket  I  do  not 
know,  and  the  only  clew  to  what  the  bandbox  contained 
is  a  speech  that  Miss  Sally  Tomkins  made  as  she  was 
putting  some  of  them  into  it,  after  hearing  that  a  strange 
man  had  been  to  Mrs.  M'Cloud's,  and  was  to  dine  there 
on  the  morrow  ;  but  she  might  have  been  influenced 
by  envy  or  ill-nature,  or  the  mere  love  of  talking,  and, 
therefore,  might  have  mentioned  things  which  she  did 
not  put  into  the  bandbox. 

"  Well,  I  do  declare,"  said  she,  as  she  did  put  some 
things  into  it,  "  only  to  think  of  old  Polly  M'Cloud's 
wearing  these  things  !  and  her  husband's  not  been  dead 
long  enough  to  get  cold  in  his  grave  !  The  old  wom- 
an must  be  in  her  dotage,  to  be  thinking  of  the  men  at 
her  time  of  life.  Why,  these  strings  would  be  almost 
too  gay  for  me  .'"  Sally  Tomkins  was  only  forty-eight, 
whereas  the  widow  M'Cloud  was  forty-nine.  "  A  lace 
tucker,  side  curls,  and  silk  gloves  and  stockings  !"  con- 
tinued she.  "  Good  Lord !  if  old  Billy  M'Cloud's 
ghost  don't  rise  to-morrow,  a  ghost  never  had  cause  to 
rise.  If  I  thought  that  when  I  got  old,  I  should  turn 
such  a  fool  as  that,  I'd  pray  to  die  while  I'm  young,  in- 
I  would." 


102  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

DID  it  ever  occur  to  any  of  my  very  numerous  gentle 
readers,  that 

"  When  lovely  woman  stoops  to  folly, 
And  finds,  too  late,  that  men  betray," 

she  is  the  victim  of  her  own  passions,  and  that  the 
men  are  only  the  devil's  instrument — willing  ones,  I 
admit — of  her  downfall  ?  Our  own  passions  are  our 
own  seducers  from  the  path  of  rectitude,  and  virtue, 
and  happiness.  What  an  awful  truth  is  implied  in 
"  Lead  us  not  into  temptation"  the  wisest  of  all  suppli- 
cations ! 

It  is  not  wonderful  that  Richard  Winter  should  have 
proved  a  temptation  too  strong  to  be  resisted  by  the 
weak  head  and  the  strong  and  willing  passions  of  Pol- 
ly M'Cloud.  The  devil  only  availed  himself  of  Isaac 
Forster  and  Richard  Winter  to  accomplish  her  utler 
destruction.  Notwithstanding  the  horrible  crime  she 
had  committed  in  the  murder  of  her  own  grandchild, 
led  on  to  it  by  Forster's  declaration  that  when  little 
children  die  they  go  straight  to  heaven,  and  urged  by 
the  desire  of  concealing  her  daughter's  shame,  and  still 
more  by  pride,  that  sin  which  caused  even  angels  to 
fall,  from  my  soul  I  did  pity  her  when,  on  the  sixth 
day  succeeding  that  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter,  I 
saw  Polly  M'Cloud,  heated  with  food  and  whiskey,  and 
gross  adulation,  seated,  after  dinner,  by  the  fire  in  that 
wretched  cabin,  with  the  counterfeiter's  arm  around  her 
waist,  and  his  cheek  pressed  to  hers.  The  rest  need 
hardly  be  told.  There  was  no  necessity  for  his  resort- 
ing to  any  of  the  alternatives  suggested  by  Isaac  For- 
ster in  case  of  one  passion's  proving  too  weak  to  drag 
her  down  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  designs,  and 
to — perdition. 


THE    RESCUE.  103 

In  less  than  a  fortnight  all  the  little  personal  proper- 
ty of  this  woman  was  sold,  the  money  in  the  pocket 
of  her  dear,  dear  Mr.  Winter,  the  cabin  deserted,  and 
she  on  her  way  with  him  to  she  knew  not  whither  ; 
and  so  blinded  was  she  by  her  passion  for  him,  that 
when  he  stated  to  her  that  it  was  absolutely  necessary 
to  his  safety  that  he  should  take  off  his  finery,  and  trav- 
el in  the  disguise  and  miserable  style  in  which  they 
presented  themselves  at  the  ferry-house  on  the  snowy 
evening  preceding  the  hunt  by  William  Henry  Ballen- 
ger,  it  did  not  open  her  eyes  to  his  character  or  her 
own  situation.  She  unhesitatingly  agreed  to  accompa- 
ny him,  and  it  was  they  who  appeared  at  the  ferry- 
house  as  we  have  related. 

This  total  self-abandonment  of  woman,  when  one 
passion  usurps  the  empire  of  her  soul,  would  be  one  of 
the  greatest  mysteries  of  our  nature,  if  its  cause  had 
not  been  revealed  by  the  Almighty  himself.  In  the 
Bible,  the  blessed  revelation  of  God's  holy  will  to  men, 
we  learn  why  and  wherefore  it  is  thus.  Listening  to 
lies,  and  "  beguiled"  by  them,  as  she  herself  declared 
in  the  presence  of  her  Creator,  the  mother  of  mankind 
exercised  the  power  of  temptation  over  man,  and  caus- 
ed his  fall.  The  bitter  fruit  is  now  returned  to  her 
own  lips.  Man  not  only  beguileth  woman,  but  it  is 
denounced  against  her,  "  Thy  desire  shall  be  to  thy 
husband,  and  he  shall  rule  over  thee."  Is  it  not  so  1 
Is  not  her  desire  to  him  who  now  succeeds  in  tempting 
her  to  taste  the  apple  of  love  or  lust  ?  Does  he  not 
rule  over  her  1  Look  at  the  conduct  of  woman,  in  all 
other  respects  wise,  and  prudent,  and  cautious ;  let 
man  but  excite  her  desire,  and  she  becomes  foolish, 
rash,  and  reckless.  The  feeling  by  which  she  is  gui- 
ded, for  good  or  for  evil,  is  truly  expressed  in  the 
words  of  the  poet: 

"  I  know  not,  I  care  not,  if  guilt's  in  that  heart : 
I  know  but  I  love  thee,  whatever  thou  art." 

Do  any  of  my  fair  female  readers  tremble  at  this  ex- 
hibition of  the  truth  ?  Let  them  recollect  that  the  de« 


104  NEW   HOPE  ;    OB, 

nunciations  of  God  are  made  in  mercy  to  man.  Is  it 
not  a  blessing  rather  than  a  curse  to  men  who  labour 
in  honest  and  innocent  callings,  that  it  was  denounced 
to  the  father  of  the  human  race,  "  In  the  sweat  of  thy 
face  shalt  thou  eat  bread  ?"  It  is  a  curse  to  the  coun- 
terfeiter, and  to  all  engaged  in  illicit,  sinful  modes  of 
gaining  their  bread.  So  in  the  denunciation  against 
woman  :  if  her  desire  is  wrongly  directed,  or  to  an  un- 
worthy object,  who  can  tell  the  misery  she  is  doomed 
to  suffer  and  to  inflict  ?  But  when  rightly  directed, 
and  to  a  worthy  object,  who  can  declare  the  bliss  she 
enjoys,  the  bliss  she  confers  ?  "  Her  price  is  far  above 
rubies ;  she  is  a  crown  to  her  husband  ;  tho  heart  of 
her  husband  doth  safely  trust  in  her.  She  will  do 
him  good,  and  not  evil,  all  the  days  of  her  life ;"  and 
these  blessings  conferred  on  her  husband  secure  her 
own  happiness.  We  cannot  minister  to  the  happiness 
of  others  without  promoting  our  own ;  we  cannot  sin 
against  others  without  sinning  still  more  against  our 
selves.  Mrs.  M'Cloud  was  not  a  woman  that  feared 
the  Lord;  hence  her  desire  was  to  a  wicked  man,  and 
in  wickedness  he  ruled  over  her.  She  had  it  not 
bound  to  her  heart  that  "  Favour  is  deceitful  and  beau- 
ty is  vain,  but  a  woman  that  feareth  the  Lord,  she 
shall  be  praised." 

After  passing  the  ferry,  nothing  more  was  seen  of 
them  together.  They  returned  not  to  Greenbrier,  nei- 
ther did  they  visit  the  house  of  Isaac  Forster  ;  yet  we 
know,  from  some  conversation  between  him  and  an- 
other person,  that  their  designs  were  fully  accomplish- 
ed, and  that  she  was  entrapped,  and  made  the  misera- 
ble drudge  of  an  unprincipled  villain. 

Three  or  four  days  after  they  passed  the  ferry,  a 
man  arrived  at  Isaac  Forster's  after  nightfall.  His 
knock  at  the  door  was  answered  by  Isaac's  asking,  in 
a  low  tone, 

"  Whafs  the  time  of  day  ?" 

The  reply  from  without  was, 

"  One  o'clock^ 

The  door  opened,  and  as  the  man  entered,  Isaac  said, 


THE    RESCtTE.  105 

"I  thought  Dixon  was  with  you." 

"  Didn't  I  answer  '  One  o'clock?'"  said  the  man. 

"  Yes,  you  did  not  say  two  o'clock,  I  know,  but  I 
thought,  maybe,  you  did  not  think  it  of  any  conse- 
quence to  mind  the  number  anywhere  except  at  home." 

"  I  tell  the  truth  to  keep  in  practice,"  said  the  man. 
"  It's  so  apt  to  be  forgotten  :  it  slips  away  from  one  so 
easily,  you  know,  like  accuracy  in  shooting  at  a  mark." 

"  Well,  let's  see  you  take  a  crack  now,"  said  Isaac. 

"  Here  goes,  then,  right  to  the  mark,"  said  the  man. 
"  Mr.  Isaac  Forster,  you  owe  me  three  hundred  dol- 
lars." 

"  Haven't  hit  the  mark,"  said  Isaac.  "  In  the  first 
place,  how  do  I  know  that  the  bird's  in  the  cage  ?  In 
the  next,  if  I  knew  that,  it's  only  two  hundred." 

"  The  devil  it  is  !  Where's  the  bet  of  fifty  on  three 
weeks  that  you  dared  me  to  double,  and  I  did  1" 

"  Oh  !  that  was  only  a  joke,  you  know,"  said  Isaac. 

"  Mr.  Forster,  you  are  getting  terribly  out  of  prac- 
tice, to  shoot  so  wide  of  the  mark,"  said  the  man, 
scowling  on  Isaac  with  a  frown  as  black  as  night  or 
as  the  heart  of  either  of  them.  "  Try  again,  sir." 

"  Well,  if  you  were  in  earnest,  and  mean  to  hold  me 
to  it,  we  won't  quarrel  about  that,"  said  Isaac. 

"  That'll  do ;  in  the  bull's  eye  this  time,  friend  For- 
ster; but  it's  only  an  accident,  for  you  know  that  Dix- 
on was  not  with  me,  and  that  the  bird  is  in  the  cage. 
Dixon  was  here  last  night,  and  told  you  all;  and  I 
can  hit  the  mark  again,  Mr.  Forster,  when  I  am  watch- 
ed, and  reported  every  day  by  Dixon  or  some  other. 
I  take  care,  also,  to  know  what  other  people  are  about. 
I  could  even  now  go  straight  to  the  centre  as  to  what 
a  certain  gentleman,  ten  days  ago,  while  I  was  in 
Greenbrier,  gave  to  Tom  Hockley  to  transfer  to  him  a 
certain  tract  of  land,  which  the  said  Hockley  could 
not  pay  for." 

Isaac  stared  at  the   man  for  a  moment,  and  said, 

"  Well,  Joe,  you  are  a  keen  fellow — a  man  of  business 

of  the  right  sort.     I've  been  only  sounding  the  bottom 

—deep — deep — just  such  as  I  like.    Here's  your  three 

5 


106  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

hundred ;  I  wish  I  could  afford  to  make  it  three  thou- 
sand. Now,  as  we, have  settled  our  business,  tell  me 
how  you  managed  so  soon  with  the  widow." 

"  Why,  it  was  the  easiest  job  I  ever  undertook — 
never  earned  three  hundred  so  easily  in  all  my  prac- 
tice." 

'•'  What  was  the  bait  ?" 

"  How  can  you  look  at  me  and  ask  that  question, 
Mr.  Forster  ?" 

"  Oh,  I  see,"  said  Forster ;  "  your  whiskers  settled 
the  business  ;  and  a  fine  pair  they  are,  I  must  admit." 

"  There  was  no  nibbling,  Mr.  Forster.  I  looked 
love,  told  her  she  was  handsome,  and  that  I  could  not 
withstand  the  charms  of  a  handsome  woman.  The 
old  woman  seized  the  bait  like  a  hungry  pike,  and 
gorged  it  immediately.  Her  own  vanity,  my  flattery, 
and  a  little  whiskey,  made  me  a  happy  man  the  sec- 
ond day  that  I  saw — your  mother-in-law,  friend  For- 
ster." 

"  What !  she's  been  attempting  to  thrust  that  lie 
down  your  throat  already  ?  Well,  I  suppose  I  must 
humour  Mrs. — what  shall  I  call  her  ?"  said  Isaac. 

"  Call  her  by  her  own  name — Polly  M'Cloud,  Mr. 
Forster.  I  shall  never  cheat  her  out  of  that,  nor  her 
dower  either ;  it  is  in  safer  hands." 

"  Oh,  you  wicked  deceiver,"  said  Isaac  :  "  see,  now, 
what  it  is  to  have  a  fine  person,  London  manners,  and 
an  eloquent  tongue." 

Joe  Swinton  had  a  weak  point  in  his  character  (who 
has  not  ?),  and  Isaac  had  discovered  it.  He  was  vain 
of  his  person,  and  his  successes  as  a  man  of  gallantry. 
Isaac  knew,  also,  that  he  loved  wine  as  well  as  wom- 
en. He  therefore  produced  the  former,  or  something 
that,  with  those  who  drink,  answered  as  well,  and  in 
a  short  time  the  counterfeiter  was  in  excellent  spirits, 
or,  what  amounts  to  the  same  thing,  they  were  in  him, 
and  then  Isaac  was  playing  the  same  game  on  him 
that  he  had  played  but  too  successfully  on  Polly 
M'Cloud. 

After  feeding  his  personal  vanity,  and  expressing 


THE    RESCUE.  107 

great  deference  for  his  opinion,  Isaac  inquired,  almost 
in  a  whisper, 

"  How  long  before  you  will  be  ready  with  the  tin 
and  the  echkinx  .<"' 

"  About  a  month,"  said  Joe.  "  They  require  some 
finishing  touches,  and  the  rubbing  off  of  the  tin  and  the 
eelskins — darkening  the  tin,  to  make  it  look  as  if  it 
had  been  some  years  in  circulation.  The  etlskins, 
too,  have  to  be  handled  a  good  deal,  by  taking  out  and 
putting  back  into  a  pocket-book,  and  slightly  soiled  and 
rumpled,  some  more  than  others,  to  give  them  a  natu- 
ral face.  None  but  a  fool  tries  to  circulate  a  bright 
dollar  or  a  new-looking  note.  Their  very  faces  excite 
curiosity." 

"  It  requires,  I  perceive,"  said  Mr.  Forster,  "  great 
judgment  and  skill  to  prepare  a  circulating  medium  ; 
and  none  but  men  of  talents,  who  can  be  trusted,  should 
be  employed  in  that  department.  I  have  some  notion 
of  the  tact  to  be  used  in  sending  moneys  on  their  trav- 
els." 

"  That,  Mr.  Forster,"  replied  Joe,  "  is  also  a  deli- 
cate operation,  and  requires  able  and  experienced  di- 
rectors." 

We  forbear  to  give  the  conversation  between  these 
worthies,  in  which  were  discussed  and  detailed  the 
means  of  throwing  large  quantities  of  false  money  into 
circulation  with  the  least  possible  chances  of  detec- 
tion. The  ingenuity,  finesse,  and  profound  combina- 
tions by  which  it  was  effected,  made  it  certain  that  the 
guilty  perpetrators  of  fraud  would  not  be  detected,  and 
that  the  risk  and  losses  would  fall  on  the  innocent  and 
the  defrauded.  More  harm  than  good  would  result 
from  giving  publicity  to  the  means  of  carrying  on  their 
ingenious  but  nefarious  operation.  Bad  men  might  be 
induced  to  make  experiments  dangerous  to  themselves 
and  others  ;  while  the  innocent  and  unsuspecting  could 
hardly  be  guarded  against  a  kind  of  cheatery  and  fraud 
which,  in  obedience  to  given  laws  and  principles  of 
combination,  can  be  made  to  assume  a  thousand  forms 
of  deception,  not  one  of  which  would  be  suspected  or 


108  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

recognisable  from   a  knowledge   of  those  previously 
practised  on  the  public. 

After  Joe  had  elucidated  the  principles,  and  given 
several  illustrations  of  their  practical  application,  Mr. 
Forster  observed, 

"  It  is  as  plain  as  day,  or  as  a  sum  in  alligation  me- 
dial, after  you  know  the  rule." 

"  You  see,"  said  Joe,  "  that  it  is  the  same  in  princi- 
ple as  discounting  good  paper  and  dealing  in  race- 
horse bills,  when  you  can't  and  don't  mean  to  pay  your 
own  notes  given  for  them  in  specie  or  other  good 
funds.  Our  money  is  as  good  as  that  of  these  corpora- 
tions, or  as  government  forced  into  circulation  by  legis- 
lative authority.  The  Revolutionary  paper  money 
made  here,  and  the  assignats  in  France,  did  not  an- 
swer so  good  a  purpose  as  ours.  The  people  on 
whom  they  were  forced  knew  that  they  were  cheated 
and  robbed  from  the  beginning — were  dissatisfied  when 
they  took  it.  Not  so  with  ours  :  it  passes  from  hand 
to  hand  at  par,  performing  all  the  functions  of  money 
till  the  last  stage  in  the  journey  of  circulation  is  reached. 
There's  no  loss,  no  dissatisfaction,  no  depreciation,  no 
unpleasant  apprehension  of  loss,  no  startling  discovery 
till  then ;  and  then  the  loss  falls  only  on  the  unlucky 
holder.  And  this,  Mr.  Forster,  brings  to  mind  your 
man,  Job  Terry,  the  rascally  pedler.  I  call  him  your 
man,  because  it  belongs  to  your  department  to  see  to 
him.  He's  a  keen  fellow,  that,  or  he  could  not  have 
so  readily  distinguished  some  of  our  coin,  that  I'll  be 
sworn  are  as  sightly  as  any  that  ever  came  out  of  the 
mint  in  Lunnun.  You  must  have  an  eye,  Mr.  Forster, 
to  such  curious,  intermeddling  disturbers  of  the  public 
tranquillity." 

"  That  man,"  said  Isaac,  "  travels  too  much,  and 
talks  too  much.  If  he  happens  to  receive  a  bad  dollar 
or  note,  he  carries  it  all  over  the  country — shows  it  to 
everybody — points  out  the  differences  between  it  and 
what  he  calls  good  money,  the  fool.  Why,  it  is  now 
well  established  in  political  economy,  that  the  less  in 
insic  value  any  substance  has,  the  better  is  it  adapt- 


THE    RESCUE.  109 

ed  to  perform  all  the  functions  of  money  ;  and  the  fel- 
low preaches  circumspection  and  watchfulness  as  ear- 
nestly as  any  other  sixty  per  cent,  mercantile  saint, 
selling  counterfeit  needles  for  real  While  Chapel." 

"  Friend  Forster,  you  must  have  a  care  of  such  men. 
Good-night — I  have  stayed  here  too  long." 

"  Take  another  glass,  to  keep  out  the  cold,"  said 
Isaac,  "  before  you  expose  yourself  to  the  cold  night 
air." 

Joe  Swinton  swallowed  half  a  glass  of  whiskey,  and 
departed. 

"  That  fellow  knows  too  much  of  my  private  affairs," 
soliloquized  Isaac.  "  I  must  ascertain  how  the  devil 
he  gets  his  information.  I,  however,  have  him  in  my 
power,  and  he  knows  it.  He  little  thinks  that  a  double 
purpose  is  answered  by  Polly  M'Cloud's  being  with 
him.  Out  of  my  way  and  in  his.  Acquainted  with 
his  trade  and  workmen,  and  not  loving  him — at  least, 
after  a  short  time,  will  not  love  him  as  much  as  she 
loves  money,  and  whiskey,  and  flattery,  all  of  which 
shall  make  her  more  mine  than  his  for  all  useful  pur- 
poses. As  for  her  love,  such  as  it  is,  for  him,  I  want 
none  of  it.  That  pedler,  too,  must  look  sharp,  or 
some  accident  will  befall  him.  Gone  to  Old  Virginia 
for  a  supply  of  goods — well,  he'll  return  in  the  spring 
or  summer.  Of  all  people,  those  who  are  forever  med- 
dling with  other  people's  business  are  the  most  disa- 
greeable and  annoying ;  and  they  are  such  mischief- 
makers,  too,  that  they  are  constantly  setting  friends  at 
variance,  or  exciting  suspicions  against  men  more  hon- 
est than  themselves." 

Isaac  Forster  verily  thought  himself  to  be  a  more 
honest  man,  and  a  better  one  too,  strange  as  it  may 
seem,  than  nine  tenths  of  mankind.  And  this  belief 
arose  from  his  observation  and  experience  of  human 
nature.  He  had  watched  closely  the  course  of  specu- 
lating, trading  people,  deemed  entirely  honest,  and 
who  would  have  been  highly  offended  at  the  slightest 
imputation  on  their  characters.  By  such  he  had  seen 
old,  worm-eaten  furniture  varnished  before  its  expo- 


110  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

sure  to  sale.  He  had  seen  an  old,  broken-down  horse 
fattened  up,  and  rubbed,  and  curried,  and  blanketed, 
and  sold  at  the  price  of  a  sound  horse.  He  had  heard 
most  respectable  merchants  say,  "  We  cannot  afford 
the  article,  madam,  a  cent  cheaper ;  it  barely  pays  cost 
and  carriage  at  the  very  low  price  at  which  we  offer  it 
to  you,"  when  Isaac  knew,  in  fact,  that  they  were  ma- 
king twenty-five  per  cent,  clear  profit. 

In  every  department  of  business,  and  in  every  class 
in  society,  he  had  seen  similar  things.  He  had  even 
heard  of  marriages  for  money,  and  he  verily  believed 
that  such  legal  prostitution-  was  practised  and  tolerated 
in  men,  and  even  women,  without  their  losing  caste  in 
society.  He  had  known  reputations  murdered  irAna- 
licious  spite,  and  also  in  mere  wantonness,  by  persons 
who,  perhaps,  would  have  shuddered  at  the  idea  of 
killing  the  body  or  abstracting  the  purse.  He  thought, 
with  the  wizard  poet, 

"  He  who  steals  my  purse,  steals  trash : 
'Twas  his — 'tis  mine — has  been  the  slave  of  thousands. 
But  he  who  filches  from  me  my  good  name, 
Robs  me  of  that  which  not  enriches  him, 
But  makes  me  poor  indeed." 

Isaac  generalized  too  extensively,  and  thought  that 
other  men  took  as  comprehensive  views  as  he  did.  In 
this  he  was  mistaken.  The  loafer,  he  thought,  who 
stole  ninepence  from  the  pocket  of  his  sleeping  com- 
rade, was  as  great  a  rogue  in  principle  as  the  bank 
officer,  collector  of  customs,  or  other  official  who  runs 
off  with  fifty  thousand  dollars,  or  the  man  who  buys 
his  neighbour's  house  in  town,  or  farm  in  the  country, 
sold  under  execution  for  one  half  of  what  he  had  of- 
fered for  it  at  private  sale,  and  knew  the  property  to 
be  worth. 

Now  this  is  carrying  the  principle  too  far,  perhaps 
(we  will  think  of  it,  however),  for  what  are  called  very 
honest  men  will  do  the  one  if  not  the  other,  and  sleep 
soundly  after  it — yes,  as  soundly  as  honest  Isaac  slept 
this  night ;  for  he  retired  to  rest  immediately  after  the 
departure  of  Joe  Swinton,  and  slept  soundly  all  night. 


THE    RESCUE.  Ill 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

WE  left  William  Henry  Ballenger  and  the  hunters  at 
the  ferry-house  on  New  River,  to  which  they  had  re- 
turned late  in  the  evening,  after  their  successful  excur- 
sion to  the  Shades  of  Death.  Here  they  learned  that 
the  man  and  woman  whom  we  now  know  to  be  Joe 
Swinton  and  Polly  M'Cloud  had  crossed  the  river  early 
in  the  morning.  They  said  they  were  going  down  to 
Kanawha  ;  and  William  Henry  and  Ben  Bramble  ex- 
pected to  overtake  them  the  next  day,  or  hear  of  them 
on  the  road  in  the  Loop. 

On  their  return  from  the  hunt,  Captain  Boyer  told 
them  he  recollected  the  man  now,  and  believed  him  to 
be  the  same  who  had  been  brought  before  Squire  Tem- 
pleman  for  passing  counterfeit  money  ;  an  arrant  scoun- 
drel, who  had  there  escaped  through  some  informality 
in  the  proceedings. 

Parting  with  Nat  Colly  and  Charley  Vandal  at  the 
ferry,  Ben  Bramble  and  William  Henry  went  their  way 
to  the  falls,  not  calling  at  Squire  Templeman's.  They 
neither  saw  nor  heard  anything  of  these  suspicious- 
looking  people.  Ben  Bramble  said  they  must  be  as 
well  acquainted  with  the  Loop  as  the  oldest  foxes  in 
it,  to  find  their  way  anywhere,  if  they  left  the  trace  to 
the  falls  ;  and  this  they  certainly  had  done. 

"  Mayhap,"  said  Ben,  "  the  fellow's  got  a  par  of 
wings  for  himself  and  the  'oman  in  that  big  bag.  With- 
out them  I  don't  see  how  they're  to  get  over  these  cliffs, 
except  in  the  reg'lar  way  by  the  road." 

Ben  and  William  Henry  continued  their  journey  to 
Mr.  Ballenger's,  and  soon  forgot  Joe  Swinton  and  Pol- 
ly M'Cloud.  The  deer  which  William  Henry  had 
killed  was  strapped  behind  his  saddle.  Young  men  as 
well  as  little  boys  like  to  carry  home  themselves  the 
trophies  of  the  chase.  The  panther-skin  which  Char- 


112  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

ley  Vandal  had  presented  to  William  Henry,  Ben  Bram- 
ble carried  for  him.  They  knew  how  to  dispose  of 
the  venison  at  Mr.  Ballenger's,  and  Ben  said  he  would 
be  proud  to  teach  Uncle  Tom  how  to  dress  a  varmint's 
overcoat  with  brains,  leaving  the  hair  on  for  Master 
Will. 

The  whites  of  Uncle  Tom's  eyes  dilated,  and  he 
drew  back  from  the  skin,  saying, 

"  Dress  him  wid  brains  and  de  hair  on  ?  Massa 
Will  sha'n't  tech  it.  It'll  kill  him  stone  dead.  Why, 
Lor'  bless  my  soul,  nothin'  but  a  dog's  stomac  kin  dis- 
jest  skin  with  the  hair  on,  and  de  brains  can't  sofien 
sich  a  tough  hide  as  dis." 

Ben,  perceiving  Uncle  Tom's  misconception,  said, 

"  The  claws  will  carry  it  through,  Uncle  Tom  :  the 
meat  of  a  painter  is  only  fit  for  the  buzzards,  but  the 
skin  and  claws  is  first-rate  for  a  gentleman  ;  it  makes 
him  feel  jist  right." 

"  Well,  well !"  said  Uncle  Tom  ;  "  'tis  live  and  larn, 
sure  enuf,  out  here  in  de  woods.  Doctor  Craick  couldn't 
cure  de  colic  dat  dish  would  perdoose  in  de  ole  settle- 
ments. You  chop  him  mity  fine,  don't  you,  Massa  Ben, 
like  sassage-meat  or  mince-meat  ?" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Ben  ;  "  that  would  spile  all.  He 
must  take  it  whole." 

"  Whar,"  said  Tom,  "  de  mouf  gwine  cum  from  dat 
kin  do  it  ?" 

"  Mouth  ?"  said  Ben,  feigning  astonishment.  "  Why, 
he  ain't  to  eat  it,  Uncle  Tom ;  arter  it  is  dressed,  it's 
to  kiver  his  saddle.  He's  to  set  on  it." 

"  Tank  God  !"  said  Uncle  Tom.  "  But  when  you 
talk'd  'bout  dressing  him  wid  brains,  I  made  sure  'twas 
for  to  eat ;  for  when  we  dress  anything  'cept  a  gen- 
tleman or  lady  whar  I  come  from,  'tis  to  eat ;  and  I 
thought  that  eatin'  a  painter-skin  wid  de  hair  on  was 
like  eatin'  oysters  widout  guttin'  'urn,  or  skilpots  and 
snipes  roasted,  shells,  feathers,  guts,  and  all ;  and  we 
do  dat  constant  at  de  houses  of  de  big  gentlemen  t'oth- 
er side  the  mountains." 

Tom  seemed  greatly  relieved  when  he  found  the 


THE   RESCUE.  113 

skin  was  not  to  be  eaten,  and  proceeded  with  great 
alacrity  to  assist  Ben  Bramble  in  the  preparation  of  it 
for  a  saddle-cover. 

It  may  be  presumed  (for  it  is  but  a  presumption,  and 
often  a  presumptuous  one,  too)  that  a  merchant,  when 
he  fails,  has  but  little  money.  This  was,  in  fact,  the 
case  with  Mr.  Edward  Ballenger  when  he  removed  to 
Kanawha.  That  little  was  nearly  exhausted.  The 
expenses  of  setting  up  anew  to  housekeeping,  of  clear- 
ing land  for  cultivation,  the  loss  of  his  carriage-horses, 
which  were  also  used  for  the  wagon  and  plough — the 
purchase  of  another  carriage  was  out  of  the  question, 
but  of  others  to  supply  their  place  for  the  plough  had 
required  a  large  portion  of  his  scanty  stock  of  money  ; 
and  he  was  obliged  to  go  in  debt.  When  he  left 
Alexandria  he  had  paid  every  dollar  that  he  owed. 
This  was  a  great  consolation  to  him,  that  none  but 
himself  and  his  own  family  would  suffer  by  him.  But 
he  looked  forward  with  sad  anticipations  to  the  future. 
The  gloom  seemed  to  thicken  around  him,  and  the 
farther  he  looked  this  side  the  grave,  the  deeper  it 
grew.  How  his  heart  bled  for  his  children  !  He 
scarcely  gave  a  thought  to  himself. 

Matilda  would  deem  it  proper,  whatever  it  might 
cost  her  heart,  to  insist  on  releasing  Victor  Carrington, 
her  lover,  from  engagements  formed  when  her  father 
was  a  rich  merchant.  Her  delicacy  and  sense  of  jus- 
tice would  revolt  at  the  idea  of  marrying  any  man  when 
so  great  a  disparity  existed,  when  so  great  a  pecuniary 
obligation  would  be  imposed  upon  herself.  Her  lover 
would  think  her  mean  and  mercenary,  and  she  pre- 
ferred the  respect  and  good  opinion  of  Victor  even  to 
his  hand.  Besides,  she  respected  herself  and  the  dig- 
nity of  human  nature.  She  had  a  proper  pride  of  char- 
acter, as  well  as  the  strongest  sense  of  justice,  and 
she  believed  that  Heaven  would  not  bless  a  union  in 
which  either  of  the  parties  knowingly  and  willingly 
violated  any  principle  of  moral  rectitude  in  forming  it. 

These  were  the  considerations  that  had  made  their 
parting  at  the  Springs  so  painful.  She  had  released 
5* 


114  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

him  then.  But  he  pointedly  refused  to  be  free,  decla- 
ring that  the  changed  condition  of  her  father  had  ren- 
dered her  still  dearer  to  him — had  developed  traits  of 
character  in  her  of  more  value  to  him  than  the  wealth 
of  the  Indies  ;  that  to  defend  and  protect  her  from  the 
cold  blasts  of  poverty  would  not  only  be  his  duty  and 
pleasure,  but  a  privilege  of  which  he  should  be  most 
proud ;  that,  being  independent  himself,  he  even  re- 
joiced, so  far  as  he  was  concerned,  at  circumstances 
which  would  prove  the  strength  and  singleness  of  his 
attachment  to  her. 

His  pleadings  did  not  convince  her.  He  entreated 
her,  then,  for  time  ;  not  to  cut  off  all  hope  —  not  to 
break  off'  their  intercourse.  Many  unfortunate  mer- 
chants, he  said,  taught  by  adversity,  had  not  only  re- 
covered their  former  standing,  but  become  more  wealthy 
than  before,  and  this  might  be  the  case  with  Smith 
and  Bird,  Buchanan  and  Alexander,  honourable,  hon- 
est, industrious  gentlemen. 

With  so  much  plausibility  did  Cupid,  wearing  the 
mask  of  Minerva,  present  this  view  of  the  subject,  that 
Matilda  consented  to  delay  her  final  answer  for  a  year, 
that,  in  the  mean  time,  he  might  write  as  he  had  done. 
With  this  understanding  Victor  parted  with  Matilda, 
much  better  satisfied  than  he  had  reason  to  be.  But 
he  was  a  lawyer,  and  having  consulted  all  the  author- 
ities and  cases  reported  in  the  court  of  love,  he  found 
that  reprieve  had  been  in  all  cases  followed  by  pardon. 
No  precedent  to  the  contrary  could  be  cited. 

Having  done  all  that  she  thought  she  ought  to  do, 
Matilda  was  supported  by  the  consciousness  of  recti- 
tude of  intention  ;  but  still  more  was  she  sustained  by 
her  Christian  faith,  and  abiding  confidence  in  the  pro- 
tecting providence  of  God.  Daily  did  her  prayers  as- 
cend to  the  throne  of  the  Most  High,  and  daily  was 
her  strength  renewed.  She  was  resigned  and  cheer- 
ful, if  not  happy.  She  confided  to  her  father  all  that 
had  passed  between  Mr.  Carrington  and  herself,  and 
although  he  doubted  the  prudence  of  their  course  un- 
der existing  circumstances,  he  left  the  matter  to  them- 


THE    RESCUE.  115 

selves,  merely  remarking  that  they  might  be,  perhaps, 
thus  sharpening  the  arrows  of  affliction  that  might 
pierce  their  hearts. 

A  new  cause  of  anxiety  and  alarm  was  now  added 
to  those  which  already  surrounded  Mr.  Ballenger  and 
his  family.  Mr.  Hockley,  already  mentioned  in  this 
narrative,  owned  the  land  adjoining  Mr.  Ballenger's. 
The  patent  under  which  he  claimed  was  older  than 
that  of  Captain  Ballenger,  from  whom  his  son,  Mr. 
Edward  Ballenger,  derived  his  title.  Hockley  was  a 
litigious  man,  greedy  of  gain,  and  unscrupulous  if  the 
law  was  on  his  side.  He  either  believed,  or  pretend- 
ed to  believe,  that  Captain  Ballenger's  patent  had  been 
shingled  on  that  under  which  he  claimed,  and  he  ac- 
cordingly brought  a  suit  against  Mr.  Ballenger  for  the 
recovery  of  the  land  on  which  he  lived.  If  he  should 
succeed,  Mr.  Ballenger  would  be  houseless — homeless 
— utterly  ruined. 

This,  though,  had  nothing  to  do  with  the  legality  of 
Hockley's  claim.  Mr.  Hockley  was  a  great  stickler 
for  legal  justice.  A  great  lawyer  once  said,  "  There 
are  two  sorts  of  honest  men — honest  men,  and  law- 
honest  men."  Mr.  Hockley  belonged  to  the  latter 
class,  Mr.  Ballenger  to  the  former;  and  the  process 
had  no  sooner  been  served  on  Mr.  Ballenger  than  he 
determined  to  have  the  titles,  both  to  Hockley's  land 
and  his  own,  carefully  examined ;  and  if  it  should  ap- 
pear that  the  land  on  which  he  lived  was  legally  or 
equitably  the  property  of  Hockley,  he  meant  to  offer 
no  delay  or  technical  obstacle  to  the  judgment  of  the 
court  in  his  favour.  Mr.  Ballenger  was  a  Christian, 
and  his  rule  of  action  was  the  morality  of  the  Bible. 
To  depart  from  that  would  have  rendered  him  more 
unhappy  than  to  lose  the  last  of  his  earthly  possessions, 
or  even  life  itself.  The  language  of  his  heart  was, 
•'  The  Lord  giveth,  and  the  Lord  taketh  away  ;  bless- 
ed be  the  name  of  the  Lord." 

It  is  proper  to  make  the  reader  acquainted  with  the 
circumstances  which  led  to  the  suit  of  Hockley  vs 
Ballenger.  Isaac  Forster  had  lately  purchased  of 


116  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

Hockley  a  small  tract  of  land  below  that  on  which  the 
latter  lived,  and  Mr.  Ballenger  resided  immediately 
above  him.  Hockley  had  said  to  Isaac  that  his  home- 
tract  did  not  hold  out  in  quantity  according  to  the  sur- 
vey. The  latter,  knowing  that  Hockley's  patent  was 
an  old  one,  determined  to  ascertain  if  the  deficiency 
would  have  to  be  made  up  from  his  purchase  or  Mr. 
Ballenger's  land.  On  visiting  the  clerk's-office,  he 
found  that  he  was  safe,  as  the  land  sold  to  him  was 
part  of  a  survey  of  a  date  prior  to  that  on  which  Hock- 
ley lived,  whereas  Ballenger's  was  subsequent.  Be- 
sides, Isaac  well  knew  that  Hockley  could  in  no  event 
recover  against  his  own  warranty.  Isaac  had  also 
lately  sold  to  Hockley  a  thousand  acres  of  land  as  the 
agent  of  the  Alexandria  merchants,  and  as  he  could 
not  pay  for  it,  as  Isaac  well  knew  when  he  sold  it  to 
him,  it  was  resold  to  Isaac,  who  very  generously  paid, 
or,  rather,  retained  in  his  hands,  the  purchase-money 
for  Hockley,  with  a  private  understanding  that,  so  soon 
as  the  title  was  complete  in  Hockley,  he  should  recon- 
vey  to  Isaac  for  the  consideration  of  fifty  dollars. 
Hockley  made  the  fifty  dollars  clear  by  the  transac- 
tion, and  Isaac  obtained  a  thousand  acres  of  very  fine 
land  for  less  than  a  tenth  of  its  value. 

We  have  mentioned,  in  the  conversation  between 
Isaac  and  Joe  Swinton,  or,  rather,  Joe  and  Isaac  both 
mentioned  the  name  of  Dixon,  who  was  more  general- 
ly known  by  the  name  of  Stretch-blanket  Jimmy,  and, 
verily,  Jimmy  deserved  the  title  ;  for  this  same  blanket 
was  so  stretched,  and  torn  too,  that  it  could  not  be  rec- 
ognised as  the  mantle  of  truth  at  all.  His  ostensible 
business  was  that  of  horse-dealer  and  jockey,  though 
he  was,  in  reality,  one  of  the  gang  of  counterfeiters  em- 
ployed by  them  in  the  sale  of  horses,  and  in  the  es- 
pionage and  intelligence  department  of  the  concern. 
The  love  of  trading  and  swapping  horses  was  his  pas- 
sion. He  it  was  who,  overtaking  a  man  travelling  on 
foot,  asked  him  how  he  would  trade  horses ;  the  man, 
looking  at  Jimmy's  horse,  replied, 

"  Don't  you  see,  stranger,  I've  got  no  horse  ?" 


THE    RESCUE.  117 

••  I  see,"  said  Jimmy ;  "  but  how  would  you  trade, 
supposing  you  had  a  horse  ?" 

Now  Isaac  Forster,  after  his  visit  to  the  clerk's-of- 
fice,  meeting  Jimmy  in  the  road,  said  to  him, 

"  Dixon,  I  want  you  to  do  a  small  job  for  me.  Hock- 
ley  is  going  to  sue  somebody,  either  me  or  Ned  Ballen- 
ger,  for  his  land  don't  hold  out.  Mine  is  the  older 
survey,  and  Ballenger's  is  not  so  old  as  his.  I  have 
lately  paid  him  some  money,  and  he  won't  rest  till  the 
lawyers  and  clerks  get  it.  I  wish  you  to  hint  to  him 
that  the  sooner  he  sues  the  better,  as  Ballenger  is  go- 
ing down  hill  as  fast  as  he  can,  and  he  may  sell  the 
land  to  somebody  who  will  give  him  more  trouble  than 
Ballenger." 

Isaac's  motive  for  wishing  to  reduce  Mr.  Ballenger 
to  distress  may  not  be  quite  apparent  to  all  our  readers  ; 
some  will  penetrate  his  design,  and  be  able  to  desig- 
nate the  card  he  intended  to  play,  if  all  others  should 
fail  him. 

"  Why,  I  was  going  straight  to  Hockley's  now," 
said  Dixon. 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Isaac,  "  if  you  have  any 
business  with  him,  for  then  any  hint  you  may  give  him 
about  the  suit  for  the  land  will  seem  to  be  merely  ac- 
cidental, and  not  the  cause  of  your  visit,  for  he  is  al- 
ways suspicious  that  everybody  is  trying  to  overreach 
him." 

"  I'm  going  there  now  to  cheat  the  old  rascal,"  said 
Jimmy. 

"  Very  veil,"  said  Isaac  ;  "  but  take  care  he  don't  put 
it  to  you.  It's  not  easy  to  come  round  that  man,  I  can 
tell  you,  Jimmy." 

"  Leave  him  to  me,  Mr.  Forster  ;  I've  got  a  tongue 
in  my  head." 

"  So  has  he,  and  eyes  too,  my  lad,"  said  Isaac. 

They  parted,  and  Dixon  rode  straight  to  Hockley's. 
He  had  two  fine  match  horses  that  Jimmy  had  longed 
to  own  ;  ho  had  heard  lately  that  they  had  the  pole- 
evil,  which  he  believed  he  could  curt; ;  and  if  he  could 
get  the  horses  now  for  little  or  nothing,  and  should 


118  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

succeed  in  curing  them,  he  would  make  a  handsome 
speculation. 

"  Good-morning,  Mr.  Hockley." 

"  Good-morning,  Jimmy  Dixon  :  come  'light ;  you  are 
the  very  man  I  want  to  see  :  my  fine  match  horses 
have  both  got  q,  slight  tech  of  the  pole-evil,  and  I  am 
told  you  can  cure  it." 

"  Cure  the  pole-evil  ?"  said  Jimmy,  alighting,  and 
tying  his  horse  to  the  fence  ;  "  I  should  like  to  see  the 
man  that  can  do  that ;  not  one  in  a  thousand  that  has 
that  complaint  ever  gets  well.  Tain't  worth  while  to 
see  them — it's  no  manner  of  use." 

"  Nevermind,"  said  Hockley  ;  "  come  along  ;  it  won't 
hurt  to  look  at  them." 

The  horses  were  in  a  lot,  and  they  went  into  it. 
Jimmy  examined  them,  shook  his  head,  said  they  were 
too  far  gone  to  do  anything  for  them,  and  swore  he 
would  not  give  five  dollars  for  the  pair. 

"  What  a  pity  it  is  :  if  they  were  sound  horses,  they'd 
fetch  a  power  of  money." 

"  How  much  ?"  asked  Hockley. 

"  Oh,  I  don't  know  ;  but  as  they  are  now,  they  are 
worth  no  more  than  their  hides,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  What  shall  I  do  ?"  inquired  Hockley. 

"  Knock  them  in  the  head,  and  put  them  out  of  their 
misery,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  Will  you  give  me  a  hundred  dollars  for  the  pair, 
Jimmy  ?" 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jimmy,  "  when  horse-skins  sell  at 
seventy-five  dollars  apiece." 

"  Make  me  an  offer,  Jimmy  Dixon,  for  you  have 
come  here  to  buy  these  horses." 

"  Have  it  your  own  way,  old  gentleman,"  said  Jim- 
my. "  I'll  give  you  five  dollars  apiece  for  them." 

"No,  you  won't  to-day,  Jimmy  Dixon.  Give  me 
forty  dollars  for  a  choice." 

"  No  ;  but  I'll  tell  you  what  I'll  do,  just  for  the 
sake  of  making  an  experiment :  I'll  give  you  ten  dol- 
lars for,  the  one  that's  got  the  natural  star  in  his  fore- 
head." 


THE    RESCUE.  119 

"  Say  twenty,  and  the  means  you  use  if  you  cure 
him,  and  I'll  give  him  away  to  you  at  that." 

"  No,"  said  Jimmy  ;  "  you  are  too  hard  for  me,  Mr. 
Hockley.  Good-morning;"  and  Jimmy  walked  away 
towards  his  horse ;  he,  however,  turned  and  said, 

"  Oh!  Mr.  Hockley,  I've  lately  been  .to  the  clerk's- 
office,  looking  over  some  old  papers  for  the  patent  of 
a  tract  of  land  left  me  by  my  grandmother"  (Jimmy's 
grandmother  never  owned  a  foot  of  land  in  all  her  life), 
"  and  I  chanced  to  see  that  your  patent  is  older  than 
Ballenger's,  and  his  land,  I've  heard,  overlaps  yours  ; 
you  haven't  got  your  right  quantity,  I'm  sure.  You'd 
better  look  to  it  soon  ;  I've  heard  he's  on  a  bargain  with 
lawyer  Tighttwist  for  his  land,  and  if  he  sells  to  him 
before  you  bring  your  action,  good-by  to  the  land  as 
well  as  the  horses."  Jimmy  mounted  his  horse. 

"  Stop  a  minute,  Jimmy,"  said  Hockley. 

They  conversed  some  time,  while  Stretch-blanket 
was  sitting  on  his  horse,  about  the  land,  during  which 
several  large  rents,  in  addition  to  those  already  made, 
rendered  Jimmy's  name  anything  but  a  misnomer.  At 
length  Hockley  said, 

"  Well,  Jimmy,  for  the  sake  of  what  you've  told  me 
about  this  land  business,  I'll  split  the  difference,  and 
take  fifteen  dollars  for  the  horse." 

"  It's  a  small  matter,  any  how,"  said  Jimmy,  "  so  I'll 
take  him.  Lend  me  a  rope  to  lead  him  home." 

The  money  was  paid,  and  the  horse  led  away  by 
Dixon.  Three  days  afterward  he  returned  to  Hock- 
ley's.  There  were  several  persons  there  ;  and  after 
the  usual  salutations,  he  said  to  Hockley, 

"  Well,  old  friend,  I  got  the  wrong  horse,  after  all ; 
you've  got  the  one  /  wanted,  and  I'll  give  you  five  dol- 
lars to  swap." 

"  Well,  there  ain't  much  choice,  I  think,"  said  Hock- 
ley ;  "  it's  a  bargain  ;  hand  over  the  cash." 

'•  Mind,  gentlemen,"  said  Jimmy,  "  I  give  him  fivo 
dollars  to  boot  between  the  horse  I  got  of  him  with  tho 
pole-evil,  and  his  that  has  the  same  complaint." 

"  Yes,  that's  it,"  said  Hockley. 


120  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

Jimmy  then,  looking  with  a  sly  smile  at  Hockley 
said,  "  The  horse  I  got  of  you  is  dead." 

"  Is  he?"  said  Hockley  :  "  I'm  mighty  sorry  to  hear 
it,  for  the  other's  dead  too,  and  I've  only  got  twenty 
dollars  out  of  you  for  both,  Jimmy." 

Dixon  was  completely  chopfallen  for  a  few  moments, 
but  he  soon  rallied  again,  and  laughed  heartily  at  this 
faux  pas  in  horse-swapping,  saying  it  was  the  last 
time  he  would  swap  horses  unsight  unseen  with  his 
old  friend  Hockley. 


CHAPTER  XV. 

WE  have  scarcely  alluded  to  the  domestic  pur- 
suits of  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  family  since  their 
settlement  on  the  Kannwha.  Retired  merchants 
are  said  to  make  excellent  farmers ;  and  there  is 
some  truth  in  the  remark.  They  generally  have, 
on  their  retirement  to  the  country,  some  capital  to 
stock  and  improve  their  farms,  and  having  been  in 
the  habit,  in  their  commercial  pursuits,  of  laying 
out  capital  to  make  money,  they  bring-  to  their  ru- 
ral business  the  same  habit.  Hence  they  lay  out 
liberally  on  their  farms,  in  order  to  receive  liberal 
returns.  They  do  not  calculate  on  large  profits 
without  the  outlay  on  which  their  profits  are  the 
interest.  A  merchant  cannot  understand  the  too 
common  practice  of  attempting  to  increase  the  in- 
terest by  diminishing  the  principal  employed  in  any 
business.  He  therefore  attempts  to  improve  his 
lands  instead  of  skinning  them,  as  the  phrase  is  in 
regard  to  those  who  make  no  returns  of  fertilizing 
substances  to  their  fields  to  supply  the  exhaustion 
produced  by  the  crops  taken  off. 

Mr.  Ballenger  had  not  the  means  of  improving 
his  land ;  he  and  his  son,  however,  worked  with 


THE    RESCUE.  121 

their  own  hands.  They  assisted  the  few  hired  la- 
bourers employed  on  the  farm  in  clearing  land,  fen- 
cing, and  ploughing,  and  his  delicately-nurtured 
daughter  might  be  seen  in  the  garden  preparing 
beds  for  a  crop  of  spring  vegetables,  and  assisting 
old  Uncle  Tom  in  laying  out  the  walks  and  borders. 
Ben  Bramble,  too,  much  of  whose  time  was  spent 
at  New  Hope,  and  who  knew  nothing  more  of  ag- 
riculture or  horticulture  than  the  ploughing  and 
planting  of  a  patch  of  corn  and  potatoes  required, 
would  saunter  into  the  garden  whenever  he  saw 
Matilda  there,  to  lighten  her  labours.  He  assisted 
her,  to  be  sure,  but  would  say,  shaking  his  head, 

"Making  these  beds  for  sparrowgrass,  and  sala- 
ry, and  cresses,  is  like  shooting  good  powder  and 
lead  at  ground  squirrels  and  snowbirds." 

"  Why,  Ben,"  she  would  reply,  "  I  can't  make 
corn  and  wheat,  but  I  can  raise  these  vegetables, 
and  my  father  likes  them.  Whatever  ministers  to 
his  comfort  I  ought  to  try  to  do,  he  works  so  hard 
for  mej"  and  the  tears  would  steal  into  her  eyes  j 
to  hide  her  emotion,  she  would  then  work  hard- 
er than  ever,  and  Ben  would  fix  his  eyes  on  her  for 
a  moment,  and  drive  his  hoe  into  the  ground  with 
so  murh  energy  that  you  would  think  he  was  try- 
ing to  find  the  very  centre  of  the  earth.  Her  filial 
aflection  touched  him  to  the  heart,  and  he  looked 
upon  her  rather  as  an  angel  descended  from  heav- 
en than  a  human  being. 

At  the  bottom  of  the  garden  Matilda  had  plant- 
ed a  little  avenue  of  shrubbery,  and  two  willows  at 
the  end  of  it.  When  she  left  the  garden,  Ben 
Bramble  asked  Uncle  Tom  what  they  were  for. 
The  old  man  said  he  never  heard  Miss  Matilda  say, 
"  But  it's  jist  like  the  place  in  the  garden  at  Alexan- 
tlry,  where  they  laid  ole  missus  when  she  was  tuck 
:i\\;iy.  They  put  a  great  marble  stone,  wid  letters 
on  it,  over  the  grave,  and  called  it  a  rnonniment; 
ind  master  and  Miss  Mattie  used  to  go  there  of  an 
evening.  I  could  see  she  had  bin  cryin'  when  she 


122  KKW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

come  away.  But  they  needn't  put  that  heavy  stone 
a  top  of  missus  to  keep  her  ghost  from  rising,  for 
if  she  was  to  cum  back,  she  wouldn't  hurt  a  Jiving 
creetur;  she  never  did  when  she  was  alive,  and  I 
shouldn't  be  afeard  to  meet  her  ghost  the  darkest 
night  that  ever  come,  or  to  go  to  her  grave,  if  so 
be  1  could  be  sartin  she'd  know  me/' 

"  Why,  Tom,  you  don't  believe  that  dead  men 
ever  rise  from  thar  graves'?  It's  onnat'ral." 

"I  don't  know  'bout  men,  but  ole  women  does," 
said  Uncle  Tom  ;  "  that  is,  ther  sperrits  does.  I've 
seed  oue  myself,  Massa  Brambel." 

"  You've  seen  a  ghost,  Tom  1  You  deseve  yer- 
self,  old  man.  The  mortal  body  rots,  and  sperrits 
without  a  body  couldn't  be  seen  if  they  was  to  rise. 
Nobody  can't  see  what's  onvisibul.  Besides,  the 
good  sperrits  goes  to  God,  and  the  wicked  to  the 
devil.  Them  with  God  is  too  happy  ever  to  leave 
him,  and  the  devil  never  lets  go  what  he  gits  for 
a  single  minnit." 

"  I  tell  you,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  "  I've  seed  a  ghost 
myself,  and  de  debil  is  de  very  one  dat  does  send 
'em  back  to  torment  de  wicked ;  and  dey  cthur 
makes  mistakes,  or  they  gits  so  like  de  debil  his- 
self  dat  dey  scares  and  tries  to  git  good  people.  I 
ain't  gwine  to  trust  'um  'bout  me,  1  know." 

"  Whar,  now,  did  you  see  a  ghost  T'  said  Ben. 

"Why,  I'll  tell  you  de  truf,  Massa  Ben,  jist  as  it 
happened.  Dar  was  an  ole  'oman  nigh  Alexandry 
dat  lived  by  herself  in  a  lone  house ;  she  used  to 
cuss  and  swar,  and  drink  and  quarrel.  She  was 
de  most  obstropolus  human  I  ever  seed.  Dey  said 
she  had  a  power  of  money,  but  nobody  ever  seed 
it.  She  had  a  neflew  that  was  a  sailor,  and  when- 
ever he  cum  to  Alexandry  he  used  to  stay  wid  her. 
When  his  money  gin  out,  as  it  did  pretty  quick  ar- 
ter  he  got  ashore,  for  he  was  a  disinpated,  wild 
dog,  as  wicked  as  he  could  be  to  live,  he'd  put  at 
the.  ole  'oman  for  money  to  frolic  on.  He  said 
she  was  as  rich  as  cream  and  too  stingy  to  live  ; 


THE    RESCUE.  123 

so  they  used  to  quarrel  and  cuss  one  another  ebery 
time  he  \v;is  thar.  One  mornin',  arter  he  had  bin 
thar,  the  ole  woman  was  found  dead  in  her  bed, 
and  he  couldn't  be  found  nowhar.  He  warn't  in 
none  of  the  ships  at  the  wharf,  nor  in  none  of  the 
bad  houses  'bout  town.  The  doctors  said  she  was 
kilt  by  vi'lence,  and  eberybody  laid  it  to  her  nef- 
few.  They  said  Billy  Dark  done  it.  They  couldn't 
find  no  money  in  de  house.  Well,  de  ole  'oman 
was  buried  between  the  house  and  de  main  road. 
I  was  thar  when  dey  put  her  in  de  ground,  and  de 
grave  was  at  least  five  foot  deep,  and  the  yearth 
piled  up  a  top  of  that,  'nufF,  I  thought,  to  keep  her 
from  ever  rising.  Not  long  arter  dat  I  was  ridin' 
long  dat  road  into  town,  thinkin'  'bout  her,  when 
I  got  not  fur  from  de  grave  (I  had  bin  noddin'  from 
a  dram  Mr.  Custis  gin  me) ;  all  at  once  I  seed  her 
in  her  windin'  sheet  as  plain  as  I  see  you,  Massa 
Ben.  She  riz  right  up  out  on  de  ground,  and  was 
a  comin'  towards  me  so  fast  that  I  clapped  spurs 
to  de  horse,  and  neber  stopped  twell  I  got  home." 

"  You  was  scared,  Tom,  by  yer  own  thoughts," 
said  Ben,  "  and  then  remagined  you  seed  her." 

"  No,"  replied  Uncle  Tom ;  "  she  had  riz,  for 
Billy  Dark  the  next  day  come  and  gin  hisself  up, 
and  said  she  tormented  him  so  he  had  no  peace  in 
his  mind;  that  he  did  not  know  what  brought  him 
back  to  town,  but  he  couldn't  help  comin' ;  and  the 
miiinit  he  laid  down  to  sleep  his  Aunt  Phebe  (dat 
was  her  name)  cum  to  his  bedside  in  the  dark,  and 
said  to  him,  'Billy,  you've  sent  your  soul  to  hell 
for  thirty  dollars.'  He  said  he  jumpt  right  up,  and 
tried  to  seize  her,  but  she  was  gone  ;  so  I  know'd 
it  was  she  1  seed  the  evenin'  before — dat  is,  'twas 
her  ghost,  sure  enough  ;  for  she  was  gwine  then  ar- 
ter Billy.  'Twas  she  lotched  him  back  to  town  to 
git  him  hung,  as  he  was,  you  may  be  sartin." 

"People  that  believe  in  things,"  said  Ben,  "can 
see  'mu  when  they  ain't  thar;  and  them  as  does 
wicked  things  is  so  tormented  by  that  feelin'  that 


124  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

God  has  put  in  us  to  keep  us  from  doing  wrong,  that 
thar  own  wickedness  rises  up  before  'em  in  the 
shape  of  them  they've  injured,  and  they  take  it  for 
a  ghost  or  a  sperrit ;  or  if  they  ain't  done  no  harm, 
but  is  timorsome,  and  has  bin  scared  when  they 
was  young  by  ghost  stories,  ther  own  fear  rises  afore 
'um  :  that's  the  sperrit  they  sees.  Billy  Dark  kilt 
his  aunt,  and  his  conshance  raised  his  own  crime 
in  the  shape  of  his  aunt.  Conshance,  Uncle  Tom. 
is  a  powerful  ghost-raiser. 

"Many  a  time,  when  I've  shot  down  a  buck  feed- 
in'  in  the  woods,  and  not  suspicioning  that  any- 
thing was  nigh  to  hurt  him,  and  arterward  laid 
down  to  sleep,  and  was  jist  dozing-like,  I've  seed 
the  creetur  fallin'  down  and  quiverin'  in  the  death- 
.struggle  jist  as  when  I  shot  him  in  the  wood. 
Now  'sposin'  it  had  bin  a  man  or  a  woman  I  had 
shot  down,  and  I  was  all  a  trimblin',  half  awake 
and  half  asleep,  then,  'stead  of  a  deer,  'twould  have 
bin  a  sperrit  or  a  ghost  certain,  and  it  would  have 
haunted  me  jist  like  his  Aunt  Phebe's  ghost  did  Bil- 
ly Dark.  I  tell  ye,  Tom,  them  as  dies  now,  by  fair 
or  foul  means,  never  rises  till  the  great  day  of  the 
gineral  insurrection." 

"  Wouldn't  you,  if  you  was  kilt  by  onfair  means, 
Massa  Ben,  want  to  haunt  them  as  did  it  1" 

"  No,  Tom,  I  should  want  to  keep  away  from  'em 
even  arter  I  was  dead  ;  and  when  they  lay  me  in 
the  ground,  I  want  to  lay  'longside  of  good  peo- 
ple." 

"  Lor' !  Massa  Ben,  you  fear'd.  if  they  berry  you 
'mong  de  wicked,  dat  when  de  debil  come  to  get 
his  own,  he  make  mistake  and  take  you  1" 

"  No,  Tom  ;  but  I  want  to  be  'mong  good  people 
in  life  and  in  death.  I've  got  nobody  to  care  for 
me  now  on  this  yearth — no  father,  nor  mother,  nor 
brother,  nor  sister  ;  and  if  so  be  I  die  anywhar  here- 
abouts, I  want  to  be  laid  in  the  ground  here  in  this 
garden.  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  children  fear  God, 
and  love  him,  and  ther  fellow-creeturs  too." 


THE    RESCUE.  125 

Old  Tom  was  moved  even  to  tears;  he- sobbed 
aloud,  and  so  soon  as  he  could  express  his  feelings 
sufficiently  to  speak,  he  said, 

"  Don't  talk  so,  Massa  Ben ;  you  make  me  feel 
«ike  a  child.  What  I  gwine  do  if  ole  massa  and 
Miss  Mattie  die  'fore  me  1  I  can't  think  of  dat ;  1 
,vant  dem  to  lay  me  in  de  ground,  too,  arid  not 
leave  me  out  here  in  de  woods  by  myself." 

Ben  Bramble  walked  away  to  the  two  willows, 
and  sat  down  between  them,  while  Uncle  Tom  re- 
mained standing  for  some  time  leaning  on  his  hoe 
as  if  in  deep  thought,  and  then  dropped  the  hoe 
and  went  off  to  the  house. 

"  Where  is  Ben  Bramble  V  said  Matilda  to  him, 
as  he  entered  the  door ;  "  I've  got  a  present  for 
him." 

"He's  down  in  dc  bottom  of  de  garden,  madam, 
settin'  down  whar  he  is  to  be  buried." 

u  Good  heavens !  is  he  ill  1     Has  he  been  hurt  1" 

"  Oh  no,  missus  ;  but  he  an'  I  got  to  talkin'  'bout 
ghosts  and  sperrits,  and  so  'bout  graves ;  and  he  said 
he  wanted  to  lib  and  be  laid  in  de  ground  whar 
good  people  lay — whar  you  an'  massa  lay,  if  so  be 
he  should  be  tooken  away  hereabouts." 

"And  he  shall  be,  Thomas,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger, 
"  if  he  wishes  it;  but  here  he  comes.  Why,  Ben, 
you  are  not  thinking  about  dying,  and  leaving  us,  I 
hope  ]  Thomas  has  just  told  us  you  have  been 
looking  for  a  place  in  the  garden  to  be  buried. 
You  will  live  many  a  long  year  yet,  my  good  friend, 
I  hope.  You  are  hale  and  hearty,  and  may  outlive 
all  of  us." 

"  We  must  all  go  when  we  are  called,"  replied 
Ben,  "and  that's  when  God  pleases." 

"  True,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  and  we  should  try 
to  be  always  ready  ;  and  if  we  are,  it  matters  little 
when  we  are  taken  from  this  world  of  trial,  and 
still  less  where  our  perishing  bodies  are  laid.  Yet 
it  is  a  natural,  and  a  good  feeling  too,  to  wish  to  be 


126  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

laid  in  the  grave  beside  those  we  loved  while  living, 
and  whose  memory  is  dear  to  us  when  dead." 

"That's  what  I  'was  thinkin'  of,"  said  Ben,  with  a 
look  of  earnest  inquiry  at  Mr.  Ballenger.  "  I'm  a 
stranger-like  in  this  country  now,  and  I  i'eel,  sir,  more 
like  1  was  at  home  here,  'mong  friends  that  I  vally, 
than  anywhars  else." 

"  Come  and  live  with  us,  then,"  said  Matilda. 

"  No,  honey,"  replied  Ben :  "  my  ways  ain't  like 
gentlefolks'  ways ;  I  can't  be  comfortable  long  any- 
whars now  but  in  the  woods." 

"  Then,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  if  you  can't  live  with 
us  always,  be  with  us  whenever  it  gives  you  pleasure, 
Ben  ;  and  when  you  die,  if  you  desire  it,  and  we  out- 
live you,  you  shall  be  buried  where  we  will  be  bu- 
ried." 

"  I  thank  you,  sir,"  said  Ben,  evidently  with  deep 
emotion.  "  It  is  a  favour  I  shall  vally." 

"  pon't  talk  about  dying,  Ben,"  said  Matilda  ;  "  I've 
just  got  a  present  for  you.  Now  guess  what  it  is." 

"  I  mought  as  well  whistle  at  a  mark,"  said  Ben  : 
"  I  should  never  hit  it." 

"  Never  mind  if  you  miss,"  rejoined  Matilda.  "  It's 
not  often  you  do  that,  I  believe." 

Ben  raised  his  hand  to  his  chin,  and  a  sudden  thought 
seemed  to  strike  him.  With  an  apology  for  a  smile, 
turning  to  William  Henry,  he  said, 

"  It's  a  cake  of  soap,  I  guess,  Master  Will — a  sort 
of  a  hint  'bout  not  shaving  this  week.  But  I  never 
could  make  out  why  the  women  objects  to  beards,  see- 
ing that  they  are  nat'ral :  scrapin  'em  off  is  only  a 
fashun.  The  dunkers  don't  do  it,  and  I've  hearn  thai 
their  wives  uses  their  husbands'  beards  for  a  toweL 
Whar's  the  soap,  Miss  Mattie  ?" 

"  I'll  declare,  Ben,  you  must  be  a  wizard  to  guess 
so  well ;  and  I  recollect,  now,  that  they  always  have 
long  beards." 

"  No,  I  ain't  a  wizard,"  said  Ben  ;  "  my  father  was 
a  Bramble,  and  my  mother  a  Dennison — Mary  Den- 
nison  was  her  name  ;  and  if  any  of  my  ancient  poster- 


THE    RESCUE.  127 

ity  was  a  wizard,  it  must  a  bin  so  fur  back  I  never 
heard  on  'urn." 

Matilda  ran  out  of  the  room,  and  presently,  after  call- 
ing a  young  hound  of  Ben's,  and  saying  to  her,  "  Here, 
Kate,  carry  the  soap  to  your  master,"  returned,  follow- 
ed by  Kate. 

The  young  hound  seemed  to  know  what  was  in- 
tended, for  she  walked  straight  up  to  Ben,  wagging 
her  tail,  and  carrying  the  present  suspended  to  her 
neck.  Ben's  eyes  dilated  with  admiration  and  pleas- 
ure as  he  detached  from  her  neck  a  powder-horn  of 
curious  and  beautiful  workmanship,  accompanied  by  a 
pouch  not  less  remarkable. 

"  Bless  my  soul !"  said  he,  "  this  is  of  more  vally 
than  twenty  barls  of  soap.  I  guessed  clean  wrong." 

"  Indeed  you  did  not,"  said  William  Henry.  "  I'll 
be  security  the  soap's  there." 

"  In  this  nice  bag,  then  ?"  said  Ben,  inquiringly. 

•"No,  indeed,"  said  William  Henry,  "but  in  the 
powder-horn." 

"Soap  in  a  powder-horn — hal  ha!  ha!  Master 
Will,  you  can't  fool  an  old  hunter  arter  that  fashion. 
Soap  in  a  powder-horn — ha !  ha !  ha  !" 

"  Look  in  the  end  of  the  horn,  Ben — there's  the 
glass  to  shave  by,  and  why  not  the  soap  f" 

Ben  looked,  and.,  to  his  amazement,  found  a  mirror, 
deeply  set  in  a  rim  of  silver,  at  the  larger  end  of  the 
horn. 

k  "  Well,"  said  he,  "  this  is  the  beat  of  all  I  ever  seed 
yit — a  looking-glass  in  a  powder-horn,  to  shave  by  in 
the  woods.  But  soap  and  powder  can't  go  together, 
no  how"  (holding  up  the  horn  to  the  light).  "  Thar's 
nothin'  but  powder  in  thar." 

"Yes  there  is,"  said  William  Henry,  touching  the 
silver  knob  of  the  spring  that  confined  the  glass  in  its 
place.  The  mirror  moved  out  on  its  hinge. 

"  Look  in  there  behind  it." 

He  could  hardly  believe  his  own  eyes,  when,  peep- 
ing into  the  cavity,  he  beheld  a  circular  silver  basin 
with  a  cake  of  soap  in  it. 


128  NEW   HOPE  :    OR, 

"  Pull  the  basin  out  by  that  little  chain." 

Ben  withdrew  the  basin  with  the  soap,  and  while 
he  was  admiring  it,  Matilda  said, 

"You  see,  Ben,  you  guessed  right  after  all." 

"  So  I  did,  onknovvinly  ;  but  I  mought  as  well  have 
thought  to  find  a  dinner-pot,  washing-tub,  and  frying- 
pan  in  a  powder-horn  as  a  looking-glass,  shavin'-cup, 
and  soap.  This  is  the  ingeniousest  contrapsion  my 
eyes  ever  lit  upon  ;.  and  here's  something  else  in  here 
yit,"  said  he,  peeping  into  the  still  smaller  cavity  dis- 
closed by  the  removal  of  the  basin.  "  As  I  live,  here's 
flints  and  a  screwdriver." 

"  Yes,"  said  William  Henry,  "  and  that  all  in  the 
horn  except  the  powder,  from  which  you  can  see  they 
are  entirely  separated." 

Ben's  hands  actually  trembled  as  he  placed  and  re- 
placed these  articles  in  their  proper  places  a  dozen 
times  over,  and  touched  and  retouched  the  spring  of 
the  glass.  Matilda  hung  the  strap  which  was  attached 
to  the  horn  over  his  shoulder. 

"  It  fits  his  side  exactly,"  remarked  William  Hen-ry, 
"  though  the  maker  took  no  measure." 

"  He  that  made  this,"  said  Ben,  "  could  work  with- 
out any  measure ;  and  here's  the  picker  for  the  tech- 
hole,  and  the  stopper,  both  fastened  by  strings,  to  keep 
'ern  from  being  lost  in  the  hurry  of  loadin'." 

Ben  examined  the  pouch.  It  was  made  of  the  skin 
of  the  vicuna  of  Peru.  In  its  false  bottom  it  contained 
a  case  with  two  razors,  a  brush  and  comb,  and  above 
•were  the  usual  divisions  for  small  game,  bullets,  pel- 
lets, &c.  Ben  was  at  some  loss  to  discover  how  to 
get  at  the  lower  compartment,  till  William  Henry 
showed  him  a  false  flap,  buttoned  to  the  upper  edge 
of  the  pouch,  under  the  exterior  flap  or  cover  proper. 
On  unbuttoning  this,  the  case  came  out  below  the  upper 
divisions.  After  replacing  all,  and  slinging  the  pouch 
over  his  shoulder,  Ben  looked  up  at  Matilda,  and  said, 

"  I  never  had  sich  a  present  afore  since  I  was  born  ; 
and  I  prize  it  mighty  high,  but  not  so  high,  Miss  Mat- 
tie,  as  I  vally  the  good-will  of  the  giver.  I'll  try  to 


THE    RESCUE.  129 

keep  that,  and  these  too,  as  long  as  there's  breath  in 
my  body." 

We  do  not  certainly  know  how  Matilda  obtained 
these  curious  and  costly  articles,  evidently  of  Euro- 
pean manufacture,  which  she  presented  to  Ben  Bram- 
ble ;  but  we  suspect  that  a  certain  young  gentleman, 
then  in  England,  had  received  so  graphic  an  account 
of  Ben  from  one  of  his  male  correspondents  in  Ameri- 
ca, that  he  had  them  made  expressly  for  him.  But 
this  we  do  know,  that  they,  and  sundry  other  articles 
and  packages,  were  contained  in  a  large  deal  box, 
which  arrived  at  Mr.  Ballenger's  a  few  days  before, 
directed  to  "  Miss  Matilda  Wynne  Ballenger,  Kanaw- 
ha  county,  Virginia,  U.  S.  of  N.  A.  To  the  care  of 
Edwin  Bird,  Esq.,  Alexandria,  Virginia.  This  side 
up.  V.  C." 

We  supposed  that  the  initials  U.  S.  of  N.  A.  and 
V.  C.  might  be  translated  "  United  States  of  North 
America"  and  "  very  carefully"  But  some  of  our 
young  lady  friends  pretend  to  know  more  about  it  than 
we  do,  and  they  declare  that  the  V.  C.  means  no  such 
thing — they  are  positively  certain. 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

ALTHOUGH  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  children  were 
destitute  not  only  of  the  elegancies  and  luxuries,  but 
even  of  most  of  the  comforts  to  which  they  had  been 
accustomed,  not  a  murmur,  not  a  querulous  expression 
escaped  them.  They  indulged  no  vain  and  useless 
regrets.  They  scarcely  ever  alluded,  in  their  conver- 
sations, to  their  former  prosperity.  There  seemed  to 
be  a  tacit  agreement  on  this  subject,  dictated  by  true 
wisdom,  and  founded  on  their  religious  faith.  They 
were  really  thankful  for  the  past  as  well  as  the  present 
mercies  of  God,  and  they  thought  it  would  be  ingrati- 
6 


130  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

tude  and  rebellion  to  repine,  or  complain  of  their  altered 
condition,  and  comparatively  light  afflictions.  These 
they  viewed  in  the  .light  of  merited  chastisements,  in- 
flicted by  their  heavenly  Father  to  correct  their  hearts 
and  purify  them.  Their  confidence  in  his  justice  and 
mercy  was  unshaken.  Their  reliance  on  his  protec- 
tion never  deserted  them. 

Mr.  Ballenger  felt  deeply  for  his  children,  and  they 
felt  as  deeply  for  him ;  but  they  gave  no  utterance  to 
their  feelings  except  in  their  silent  chambers,  whence 
their  prayers  ascended  to  the  throne  of  grace.  The 
low,  sweet  voice  of  Matilda  could  sometimes  be  heard 
in  the  watches  of  the  night  accompanying  her  harp,  the 
only  costly  piece  of  furniture  in  the  house,  the  gift  of 
her  godfather,  Mr.  Bird,  which  he  had  sent  to  her  in  a 
box  with  the  other  one  mentioned  in  the  last  chapter. 
The  harp  had  been  left  at  his  house  when  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger removed  to  Kanawha.  Whether  it  had  been  for- 
gotten or  left  intentionally,  we  are  not  informed.  When 
the  boxes  were  unpacked  and  the  harp  taken  out,  nei- 
ther Mr.  Ballenger  nor  William  Henry  asked  Matilda 
to  play,  although  both  of  them  were  very  fond  of  mu- 
sic— fearful,  we  suppose,  of  awakening  in  her  bosom, 
if  not  in  their  own,  recollections  too  tender  and  touch- 
ing. They  saw  that  the  sight  of  the  instrument  brought 
the  tears  into  her  eyes.  What  a  finely-stringed  instru- 
ment is  the  heart  of  woman !  Pity  it  is  that  any  rude 
touch  should  ever  bring  out  any  but  its  softest,  sweet- 
est tones. 

Matilda's  harp  was  placed  in  her  chamber.  That 
night  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  son  were  just  falling  to 
sleep,  when  Matilda's  voice,  accompanied  by  the  harp, 
stole  into  their  ears  like  those  low,  soft  sounds  that  we 
sometimes  hear  in  our  dreams.  Thus  she  sung : 

"  When  night  in  darkness  shrouds  the  sky, 

Or  gloomy  clouds  obscure  the  day ; 
When  not  a  star  appears  on  high, 

And  on  the  earth  no  sunbeams  play, 
We  know  by  Him  the  order's  given, 
Who  rules  on  earth  and  reigns  in  heaven. 


THE    RESCUE.  131 

At  His  command  the  night  will  fly, 

The  glorious  light  of  day  return ; 
The  clouds  that  curtain  all  the  sky 
Will  vanish,  or  with  splendour  burn. 

The  darkness  of  the  night  he  sends, 

To  weary  man  a  time  of  rest ; 
The  bounteous  rain  the  clouds  distend: 

Jt  falls— their  daily  toils  are  blest. 

To  eyes  of  faith  the  night  of  sorrow 

Is  but  the  harbinger  of  brighter  day; 
The  veil  of  clouds  will  on  to-morrow 

Reflect  the  light  or  pass  away. 

Then.  O  my  soul !  when  sorrows  lower, 

And  darkest  clouds  obscure  His  face, 
In  them  behold  His  love  and  power, 

And  humbly  seek  His  pard'ning  grace." 

There  was  no  originality  of  thought  or  expression  in 
her  song,  no  high  poetic  merit,  yet  it  touched  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger's  heart  more  than  the  most  admired  lyrics  in  the 
language  had  ever  done.  No  love-ditty,  no  poetical 
praise  of  woman,  war,  or  wine,  the  usual  burdens  of 
punished  pianos  and  theatrical  throats,  could  have 
charmed  him  half  so  much ;  and  he  did  not  sleep  un- 
til long  after  he  had  again  invoked  the  blessing  of  the 
Most  High  on  his  lovely  daughter.  We  say  again,  for 
Mr.  Ballenger  never  slept  without  previously  praying 
for  himself,  his  family,  and  all  the  fallen  race  of  man. 

But  we  must  take  occasion  here  to  express  our  fears 
that,  in  these  modern  days  of  the  march  of  mind,  Mr. 
Ballenger  will  hardly  pass  for  a  real  converted  Chris- 
tian with  many  of  our  readers,  when  we  inform  them 
that,  although  he  was  a  firm  believer  in  the  divinity 
of  Jesus  of  Nazareth,  and  rested  all  his  hopes  of  sal- 
vation on  faith  in  him ;  that  conversion  implies  both 
conviction  and  repentance  for  sin  and  newness  of  life  ; 
chat  good  works  are  only  the  points  of  faith,  constitu- 
ting no  claim  to  the  mercy  of  God,  which  is  free  grace, 
vet  he  had  the  misfortune  to  differ  with  many  Chris- 
tians in  many  respects.  We  do  not  mean  with  those 
•>ious  persons  only  who  consider  a  certain  snuffle  in 
singing  and  the  long  sound  of  the  adverbial  termination 
li}  as  signs  of  grace,  or  with  those  who  would  be  scan 


132  NEW    HOPE  J    OR, 

dalized  by  wearing  any  but  straight-cut  coats  or  broad- 
brimmed  hats  ;  but  with  others,  as  to  the  posture  and 
place  in  which  the  Lord's  Supper  should  be  received 
— as  to  the  quantity  of  water,  and  the  mode  of  apply- 
ing it,  in  the  emblematic  rite  of  baptism — as  to  the  sub- 
jects of  that  ordinance,  and  in  his  willingness  to  com- 
mune on  earth  with  all  believers,  with  whom  he  hoped 
to  meet  in  the  kingdom  of  heaven.  The  microscope 
of  his  mind  was  not  sufficiently  powerful  to  magnify 
these  things  so  that  he  could  see  their  importance  in 
the  great  plan  of  salvation.  He  thought  that,  in  regard 
to  them  and  other  disputed  points,  if  every  man  acted 
up  to  his  best  lights  and  in  obedience  to  his  Scripture- 
taught  conscience,  he  would  be  as  apt  to  be  guided 
right  as  if  he  put  his  own  light  under  a  bushel  and  fol- 
lowed that  of  any  one  of  his  neighbours,  who  might  bo 
fallible  men  like  himself.  To  follow  them  all  was  im- 
possible, as  they  did  not  follow  one  another,  nor  go  in 
the  same  direction.  And  it  seemed  very  strange  to 
him,  and  unaccountable  too,  that  some  of  these  ritual 
ly  sharp-sighted  people,  whose  vision  was  so  clear  i>» 
some  things,  should  be  so  dim-sighted  in  others,  whicl 
to  him  were  so  plain,  that,  while  they  were  so  scrupu  • 
lous  as  to  rites  and  ceremonies,  and  could  tell  to  a  droj 
how  much  water  constituted  the  quantity  necessary  U, 
valid  Christian  baptism,  they  were  rather  regardless  o( 
the  things  typified.  Some  of  these,  he  was  sorry  to 
hear,  who  were  great  sticklers  for  their  own  inter- 
pretation of  Scripture  in  ceremonial  matters,  and  very 
clear-sighted  as  to  the  errors  of  others,  could  not  distin- 
guish the  pound  and  half  pound  notches  on  a  steelyaru 
beam — could  not  tell  the  difference  between  their 
neighbour's  mark  and  their  own  on  a  hog's  ear,  and 
sometimes  made  sad  mistakes,  even  in  the  daytime,  in 
taking  other  handsome  women  for  their  own  wives. 

The  duty  of  providing  for  one's  family,  enjoined  by 
the  Scriptures,  received  a  very  broad  and  liberal  inter- 
pretation ;  and  "  Take  a  little  wine  for  thy  stomach's 
sake"  was  a  soul-reviving  command.  The  first  was 
not  limited  by  some  to  the  earnings  of  honest  industry 


THE   RESCUE.  133 

and  the  profits  of  fair  and  equal  exchanges,  but  over- 
reached the  rights  and  invaded  the  interests  of  all  oth- 
ers. "  Thou  shall  not  covet  thy  neighbour's  goods" 
they  considered  a  prohibition  to  the  Jews  only,  and 
was  not  to  be  so  construed  as  to  interfere  with  the 
duty  of  providing  for  one's  household.  The  latter,  the 
soul-reviving  command,  was  equally  clear.  Wine  was 
a  general  term  for  all  exhilarating  liquors,  and  would, 
of  course,  include  brandy,  gin,  whiskey,  rum,  &c.,  &c. ; 
and  everybody  knows  that  the  word  stomach  means 
appetite  or  desire.  It  would  therefore  be  a  base  sur- 
render of  Christian  liberty,  arid  unscriptural,  to  aban- 
don the  use  of  liquor.  Total  abstinence  would  be  a 
positive  violation  of  the  soul-reviving  injunction,  a  sin- 
ful invention  of  men.  True  it  was  that  a  little  wine 
limited  its  use  to  moderate  drinking ;  and  what  was 
"  a  little"  what  was  moderation,  every  man  could  de- 
termine for  himself.  There  was  no  practical  difficul- 
ty in  that :  a  gill  was  little  for  some,  a  pint  for  others, 
a  quart  too  little  for  many.  Some  men  drank  too  much 
— became  drunkards  ;  they  were  immoderate  drinkers. 
Moderate  drinking  could  not  lead  to  immoderate  ;  that 
would  be  a  confounding  of  terms.  The  men,  therefore, 
who  now  became  drunkards,  never  could  have  been 
temperate  men,  could  not  have  gradually  passed  from 
the  class  of  moderate  drinkers,  but  from  those  who 
taste  not,  touch  not,  handle  not ;  like  the  man  who, 
refusing  to  drink,  was  funnelled  and  made  drunk,  and, 
on  his  waking  out  of  his  drunken  sleep,  asked  his  com- 
panions who  had  done  it  if  it  was  not  time  to  serve 
him  so  again,  and  who  has  been  serving  himself  so 
ever  since.  Sudden  drinking,  argued  they,  like  sud- 
den prosperity,  intoxicates  the  brain  ;  moderate  and 
gradual  drinking  brings  men  cautiously  up  to  the  mark, 
the  quantity  appetite  demands,  and  which  they  can 
comfortably  carry,  and  there  they  always  stop.  Ask 
the  miserable  wives  and  children  of  the  besotted  ine- 
briate if  their  husband  and  father  ever  was  a  moderate 
drinker — took  a  little  wine,  brandy,  or  whiskey  for  hi 
stomach's  sake  ? 


134  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

The  same  liberal  construction  that  was  given  to 
scriptural  passages  in  relation  to  the  acquisition  of  prop- 
erty and  the  gratification  of  the  appetite  was  not  ap- 
plied to  other  passages  of  the  Scriptures :  such  as,  "  Go 
ye,  therefore,  and  teach  all  nations  ;"  "  He  who  giveth 
to  the  poor  lendeth  to  the  Lord."  These  were  en- 
joined upon  the  apostles  alone  ;  and  as  to  Missionary 
Societies,  Sunday-schools,  Tract  Societies,  the  trans- 
lation of  the  Scriptures,  and  the  diffusion  of  Chris- 
tian knowledge  among  men,  they  were  the  devices  of 
the  devil ;  that,  the  conversion  of  souls  being  the  work 
of  God,  all  ideas  of  instrumentality  were  unauthorized  ; 
that,  because  in  the  physical  world  God  uses  the  cloud 
to  bring  the  fertilizing  shower,  and  the  light  and  heat 
to  raise  the  plants  and  bring  them  to  maturity,  no  ar- 
gument could  thence  be  drawn,  or  from  his  Word,  that 
he  made  use  of  human  agency  or  any  other  means  in 
his  moral  government  of  the  world,  or  in  bringing  sin- 
ners to  repentance  ;  that  all  intervention  of  men  was 
an  attempt  to  do  God's  work,  and  that  it  was  no  limita- 
tion of  the  omnipotence  of  God  to  say  that  his  Holy 
Spirit  could  not  use  a  tract  or  a  translation  to  convert 
a  single  soul ;  that  the  Holy  Ghost  acted  directly,  and 
made  no  use  of  any  means  whatever. 

Now  we  fear  that  many  of  our  readers,  as  well  as 
those  of  Mr.  Ballenger's  neighbours  who  held  these 
doctrines,  will  think  that  he  who  construed  the  Scrip- 
tures so  differently  was  so  uncharitable  as  not  to  be- 
lieve them  to  be  Christians,  if,  indeed,  he  was  one 
himself.  But  he  did  not  think  because  of  these  inter- 
pretations, in  his  opinion  so  erroneous,  that  they  were 
not  Christians,  nor  that  the  reading  of  the  Scriptures 
should  be  confined  to  the  priesthood  and  forbidden  to 
the  laity ;  for  the  former  are  but  men,  and  might  fall 
into  errors  themselves.  He  could  find  in  the  Bible  no 
authority  for  the  "  Ora  pro  nobis"  addressed  to  the 
Virgin  Mother  of  his  Saviour ;  for  prostration  before 
images,  or  even  for  auricular  confession.  The  errors 
of  the  people  and  of  the  priests  made  his  heart  sad, 
but  not  cold.  He  believed  that  men  might  be  sincere 


THE    RESCUE.  135 

Christians  who  still  entertained  many  erroneous  notions. 
He  therefore  did  not  read  out  of  the  Church  all  who 
difleretJ  from  himself,  for  he  no  more  expected  to  find 
men  while  in  the  flesh  free  from  errors  of  opinion  than 
from  errors  of  action.  He  looked  for  perfection  and 
freedom  from  error  only  in  another  and  a  better  world 
than  this,  when  this  corruptible  shall  put  on  incorrup- 
tion,  and  this  mortal  must  put  on  immortality.  He 
could  pray  in  any  house,  of  any  sect,  dedicated  to  the 
worship  of  the  Triune  God  ;  considered  every  baptism 
valid  to  him  who,  believing  in  the  mode  in  which  it 
was  administered  to  him,  received  it,  in  the  name  of 
the  Father,  the  Son,  and  the  Holy  Ghost,  as  the  em- 
blem of  purification,  of  the  regenerating  influence  of 
the  Holy  Spirit,  as  a  burying  with  Christ,  whether  it 
was  performed  in  the  River  Jordan  or  Potomac,  or  in 
a  house,  by  plunging,  pouring,  or  sprinkling.  He 
could  receive  the  sacred  emblems  of  the  body  and 
blood  of  Christ  with  any  professing  Christians  of  any 
sect,  whether  he  received  them  kneeling,  standing,  or 
sitting  or  reclining,  if  he  received  them  as  the  body 
given  and  the  blood  shed  for  him.  The  words  of  the 
Saviour,  "  This  do  in  remembrance  of  me,"  conveyed 
to  his  mind  the  essential  object  of  the  Lord's  Supper. 
How  could  he  refuse  to  take  it  with  any  man  profess- 
ing to  be  a  Christian,  when  Judas  Iscariot  was  permit- 
ted to  be  present  at  its  institution  1  He  considered  it 
the  Lord's  table,  and  that  no  man  should  presume  to 
decide  who  were  unworthy  to  receive  it,  much  less 
refuse  it  to  them,  if  they  professed  belief  and  requested 
to  partake  of  it.  This  seemed  to  him  a  greater  want 
of  charity  than  to  refuse  a  crust  of  bread  and  a  cup  of 
cold  water  to  a  starving  fellow-creature  because  we 
did  not  know  whether  he  was  worthy  of  our  bounty. 
Such  were  Mr.  Ballenger's  opinions.  We  hold  not 
ourselves  answerable  for  them,  gentle  reader  ;  we  have 
our  own,  and  so  have  you. 

Matilda  Ballenger,  in  a  conversation  with  Isaac  For- 
ster,  said,  I  think,  that  her  father  was  an  Episcopalian. 
To  what  sect  or  denomination  Isaac  belonged,  or 


136  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

whether  he  belonged  to  any,  I  never  could  learn ;  the 
documents  from  which  we  have  derived  the  principal 
events  of  this  narrative  are  silent  on  the  subject.  He 
sometimes  went  to  places  of  public  worship,  we  know, 
for  it  was  in  returning  from  one  that  he  saved  Matilda, 
in  all  probability,  from  a  watery  grave  at  the  broken 
bridge.  He  spoke  of  religion,  too,  as  a  good  thing, 
we  remember;  whether  he  meant  for  others  or  him- 
self, our  readers  must  determine  for  themselves.  He 
certainly  thought  himself  better  than  the  generality  of 
mankind,  and  we  do  not  undertake  to  say  that  he  did 
not  think  himself  possessed  of  as  much  religion  ;  it 
would  not  be  a  grosser  self-deception  than  many  per- 
sons, we  verily  believe,  are  subjeted  to. 

While  we  are  speaking  of  Mr.  Forster,  that  gentle- 
man made  his  appearance  at  Mr.  Ballenger's  appa- 
rently a  new  man,  so  far,  at  least,  as  new  and  very 
fashionable  clothes  could  make  him  such.  Although 
he  had  an  utter  contempt  for  all  who  judge  of  things 
and  persons  from  their  external  appearance,  yet  he  had 
found  what  an  influence  it  has  on  mankind,  and  wom- 
ankind also.  Gentlemen  well  and  fashionably  dressed 
attract  the  attention  especially  of  young  ladies,  and  are 
received  by  them  with  more  consideration  than  those 
whose  attire  is  older  or  plainer.  Having  seen  enough, 
I  do  not  say  of  what,  to  determine  him  to  fall  in  love 
with  and  to  address  Miss  Ballenger,  he  very  wisely,  we 
think,  resolved  to  avail  himself  of  all  the  adventitious 
aids  in  such  cases  made  and  provided.  Indeed,  how 
he  or  any  other  single  man  of  taste  and  discernment 
could  see  and  converse  with  Matilda  without  coming 
to  the  same  determination  that  Isaac  did,  we  are  at  a 
loss  to  conceive.  All  men,  though,  do  not  arrive  at 
their  conclusions  or  come  to  their  determinations  by 
the  same  route.  When  a  gentleman  becomes  very  at- 
tentive to  a  young  lady,  she  is  naturally  led  to  believe 
that  it  is  herself,  her  attractions — personal,  I  mean — 
that  have  fixed  the  arrow  in  his  heart,  whether  she  is 
very  attractive  or  not ;  and  if  she  is  poor,  as  Matilda 
believed  her  father,  and,  consequently,  herself  to  be 


THE   RESCUE.  137 

she  has  confirmatory  reasons  for  thinking  herself  the 
object  of  regard.  It  was  therefore  very  natural  for 
this  young  lady,  not  only  from  his  appearance  and 
sundry  speeches  which  this  gentleman  addressed  to 
her  in  a  very  low  tone,  but  from  sundry  other  signs,  to 
conclude  that  he  was  in  love  with  her,  and  in  due 
time  meant  to  propose.  She  was  certainly  half  right 
in  her  conclusions.  We  need  not  say  it  gave  her 
pain.  Having  been  taught  to  acknowledge  the  right 
of  every  gentleman  to  address  any  lady,  and  that  every 
lady  is  bound  to  hear  him  with  politeness,  if  not  with 
patience,  she  dreaded  the  avowal  of  his  passion,  and 
regretted  the  necessity  of  indicting  the  pain  of  a  posi- 
tive rejection.  How  sharp-sighted  even  the  most  art- 
less, unsophisticated,  and  unpractised  women  are  in 
discovering  in  men  the  symptoms — I  do  not  say  of 
love — it  would  be  well  for  them  if  I  could,  but  of  love- 
making  !  It  must  be  instinctive.  They  not  only  dis- 
cover them  before  they  are  known  to  the  man  himself, 
but  not  unfrequently  before  they  exist  they  think  they 
see  them,  if,  with  longing  eyes,  they  are  looking  hard 
jfor  them. 

Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  son  were  sitting  at  a  table  with 
a  deed,  a  map  of  a  plat  of  land,  and  an  open  case  of  sur- 
veying instruments  before  them,  when  Mr.  Forster  en- 
tered the  room.  Matilda  was  sitting  in  the  corner  near 
the  fireplace,  sewing.  After  the  usual  salutations,  Mr. 
Ballenger  said, 

"  Pardon  us  for  a  few  moments,  Mr.  Forster,  and  we 
shall  be  at  leisure." 

"  Let  me  not  interrupt  you,  I  pray,  gentlemen,"  said 
Isaac  :  "  I  hope  you  will  not  permit  my  entrance  to  in- 
terfere in  the  slightest  degree  with  whatever  occupies 
you." 

Matilda  had  risen  to  leave  the  room,  but  resumed 
her  seat.  "  I  have  to  thank  you,  Mr.  Forster,"  said 
she,  "  and  I  seize  the  earliest  opportunity  of  doing  so, 
for  your  most  timely  and  efficient  assistance  at  the  bro- 
ken bridge.  I  really  believe  I  should  have  perished 
but  for  your  gallantry.  I  hope,  sir,  you  sull'ered  no  in- 
6* 


138  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

jury  from  the  wetting  of  which  I  was  the  unwilling 
cause." 

"  Not  the  slightest.  Miss  Ballenger,  I  assure  you  ; 
and  we  do  not  often  suffer,  I  believe,  from  any  effort 
made  for  the  welfare  or  security  of  a  friend  or  fellow- 
creature.  But  you  greatly  overrate  my  services  on 
that  occasion.  There  was  no  danger  of  your  being 
drowned,  I  think  ;  you  would,  perhaps,  have  been  only 
a  little  longer  in  the  water." 

"  At  any  rate,  sir,  I  thank  you  most  sincerely,"  said 
Matilda. 

Mr.  Forster  bowed  so  gracefully  before  seating  him- 
self  near  her,  that  Uncle  Tom,  who  was  coming  into 
the  room  to  replenish  the  fire,  and  whose  eyes  were 
stretched  wide  open  on  seeing  him  in  his  new  and  fash- 
ionable attire,  bolted  right  back,  and  actually  pulled  off 
his  old  hat  and  combed  his  head  before  he  re-entered 
the  room. 


CHAPTER  XVII. 

THE  conversation  of  Mr.  Forster  with  Matilda  con- 
tained so  much  good  sense  and  good  feeling,  and  even 
touches  of  refinement — his  manner  was  so  different 
from  what  it  had  been  at  his  last  visit — was  so  unas- 
suming, and  deferential,  and  diffident,  that  Matilda 
listened  and  looked  with  astonishment.  She  hoped, 
and  even  inclined  to  believe,  that  Ben  Bramble  was 
mistaken  in  his  estimate  of  Isaac's  character  and  feel- 
ing ;  that,  from  some  cause,  he  was  prejudiced  against 
him,  and  had  done  him  injustice. 

Mr.  Ballenger  and  William  Henry  were  sitting  near 
enough  to  catch  snatches  of  their  conversation,  and 
they  both  frequently  looked  up  and  listened,  exchan- 
ging glances  with  each  other  and  Matilda.  They  were 
surprised  and  pleased.  A  copy  of  Shakspeare  was  Iv- 


THE    RESCUE.  139 

ing  on  the  window-sill  near  Mr.  Forster.  He  took  it 
up,  and  observed  what  a  wonderfully  gifted  man  this  wri- 
ter was.  "  I  am  almost  ashamed,  Miss  Ballenger,  to 
confess  to  you  that  I  have  never  till  lately  read  his  wri- 
tings. But  it  was  my  misfortune  in  early  life  to  re- 
ceive but  a  very  limited  education,  and  I  have  been 
since  that  time,  from  the  force  of  circumstances,  so  im- 
mersed in  the  toilsome  cares  of  business,  that  I  have 
had  little  leisure  for  improvement,  and  still  less  for  en- 
joying the  beauties  of  literature.  I  regret  this  exceed- 
ingly, and  mean  to  become  less  a  man  of  business  and 
more  a  man  of  pleasure,  so  far,  at  least,  as  enjoyment 
is  to  be  derived  from  the  perusal  of  books." 

"  Then  you  have  most  of  the  feast  before  you,"  said 
Matilda :  "  only  the  more  to  enjoy,  Mr.  Forster." 

"  I  fear  not,"  replied  Mr.  Forster.  "  To  enjoy  the 
higher  branches  of  literature,  I  think  I  can  perceive 
that  we  must  not  only  have  the  desire,  but  the  cultiva- 
ted taste  which  constitutes  the  power  of  enjoying.  In 
music,  I  know,  from  some  little  experience,  that  we 
cannot  appreciate,  much  less  enjoy,  the  finest  compo- 
sitions without  a  practised  and  cultivated  ear,  if  I  may 
be  allowed  the  expression." 

Matilda  never  dreamed  that  Isaac  Forster  had  any 
music  in  his  soul,  much  less  that  he  knew  anything  of 
it  as  a  scientific  art.  Yet  he  was  no  mean  performer 
on  the  flute,  and  read  and  executed  at  sight  the  most 
difficult  pieces  with  perfect  ease.  While  living  in  a 
clerk's-office  with  a  man  who  was  a  sort  of  musical  ma- 
niac, he  had  become  a  musician  as  well  as  a  clerk. 
But  so  lightly  did  Isaac  think  of  this  accomplishment, 
that  in  his  heart  he  was  almost  ashamed  of  its  posses- 
sion ;  although  he  might  be  said  to  enjoy  music,  ho 
deemed  it  a  frivolous  waste  of  time  to  play.  Time  em- 
ployed in  any  other  way  than  in  making  money,  or 
reputation  in  order  to  make  money,  he  considered  very 
foolishly  thrown  away. 

li  This,"  said  he,  turning  to  "  Measure  for  Measure? 
"  is  my  favourite  play.  The  mode  in  which  that  para- 
gon of  excellence,  Isabella,  ie  made  to  develop  the 


140  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

workings  of  the  heart,  and  to  delineate  her  own  char- 
acter unconsciously,  in  her  conversations  with  her 
brother  and  the  duke,  is  among  the  highest  efforts  of 
genius." 

In  Matilda's  estimation,  this  play  was  the  best  of  the 
immortal  bard's,  and  the  character  of  Isabella  the  very 
impersonation  of  female  perfection.  The  combination 
of  the  tenderest  feelings  and  the  most  sympathetic  af- 
fections, with  moral  firmness  and  principles  of  purity 
not  to  be  shaken  or  abandoned  in  the  most  trying  cir- 
cumstances— her  eloquent,  appeals — her  appalling  de- 
nunciations— her  unanswerable  reasoning,  evincing  the 
clearest  perceptions,  the  highest  degree  of  moral  cour- 
age, and  deep  devotion  to  the  eternal  principles  of  truth, 
and  justice,  and  mercy — her  clear  conception  of  the 
boundary  between  our  duties  and  our  feelings — be- 
tween what  is  due  to  others  and  to  ourselves — all  had 
made  the  strongest  impression  on  Matilda,  and,  it  is 
not  improbable,  had  tended  in  some  degree  to  form  her 
own  character.  She  was  surprised  at  the  coincidence 
of  sentiment  between  herself  and  the  man  with  whom 
she  supposed  there  was  nothing  in  common  with  her- 
self but  humanity  in  its  unrestricted  sense. 

Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  son  removed  from  the  table 
and  joined  in  the  conversation.  The  latter  could 
hardly  recognise  in  the  man  before  him  the  individu- 
al of  whom  he  had  said  to  his  sister,  "  That  man  has 
lived  all  his  life  in  a  tavern,  and  thinks  he's  in  one 
now." 

"  What  instrument  do  you  prefer,  Mr.  Forster  ?"  in- 
quired Matilda. 

"  The  instrument  of  God's  own  making,  miss — the 
most  perfect  of  all — the  human  voice.  Next  to  that,  1 
think,  is  the  organ.  Have  you  any  new  music,  Miss 
Ballenger,  for  I  have  heard  that  you  play  and  sing  ?" 

"  I  attempt  both,  sir,  but  with  indifferent  success." 

"  May  I  ask  to  see  your  new  music  ?" 

"  Certainly,  sir.  Brother,  will  you  be  so  kind  as  to 
bring  it  to  Mr.  Forster  ?  You  will  find  it  loose  in  the 
portfolio." 


THE    RESCUE.  141 

William  Henry  brought  them.  Mr.  Forster  ran  his 
eyes  over  them,  and  selecting  one — a  song  which  hap- 
pened to  be  Matilda's  favourite,  and  which  she  had 
just  (mastered  ?  mistressed  ?  what  is  right?) — request- 
ed her  to  sing  it.  "  I  will  attempt  to  accompany  you," 
said  he,  taking  from  his  pocket  and  adjusting  the  joints 
of  a  superb  German  flute. 

Matilda  laid  the  music  on  the  table,  and  without  any 
excuse  of  cold  or  hoarseness,  began  the  song.  Mr. 
Forster  stood  behind  her,  and  looking  over  her  shoul- 
der at  the  score,  accompanied  her  in  tones  at  first  so 
low  as  scarcely  to  be  audible,  but  gradually  swelling 
out  into  such  rich  and  perfect  harmony,  and  blending 
so  completely  with  her  voice,  in  "  linked  sweetness 
long  drawn  out,"  that  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  son  were 
delighted,  and  Matilda  herself  was  near  being  put  out 
by  her  pleased  astonishment. 

The  song  being  ended,  Mr.  Forster  thanked  Matilda, 
and  said  he  would,  with  her  permission,  take  some  op- 
portunity of  copying  that  song,  as  it  was  extremely 
beautiful,  and  quite  original.  She  offered  it  to  him,  of 
course,  and  complimented  him  on  his  performance. 
After  conversing  some  time  in  the  most  agreeable 
manner,  perceiving  the  effect  he  had  produced,  and 
wishing  to  leave  it  behind  him,  Mr.  Forster  rose  to  de- 
part. 

"  Perhaps,  William,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger  to  his  son, 
"Mr.  Forster  could  lead  us  out  of  the  difficulties  of 
this  survey.  1  presume,  sir,"  said  he,  turning  to  Isaac, 
"  you  have  heard,  as  it  is  a  matter  of  notoriety,  that  my 
neighbour,  Mr.  Hockley,  has  brought  a  suit  against  me  ? 
He  thinks,  no  doubt,  that  his  survey  of  land  has  been 
overlapped  by  mine.  We  have  been  looking  over  the 
patents  and  deeds,  arid  attempting  to  run  out  the  ori- 
ginal lines  :  but  we  have  been  unable  to  do  so,  either 
from  our  own  ignorance,  or  from  some  inherent  difficul- 
ty in  the  thin»-  itself." 

Mr.  Fnrster's  eyes  twinkled  with  pleasure,  for,  next 
to  his  chirography,  he  valued  himself  most  on  his  skill 
as  a  surveyor. 


142  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

"  I  shall  be  most  happy,"  said  he,  "  to  render  you 
this  or  any  other  se.rvice  in  my  power." 

Mr.  Ballenger  handed  him  the  papers,  and  offered 
him  a  seat  at  the  table.  He  ran  his  eyes  over  the  pa- 
pers, took  up  the  scale  and  dividers,  rapidly  sketched 
for  a  few  moments,  stopped,  referred  to  the  deed,  and 
observed,  "  It  is  no  wonder,  gentlemen,  you  were  per- 
plexed ;  there  is  a  mistake  in  two  of  the  courses. 
These  cannot  enclose  a  space  ;  reverse  them,  and  you 
will  reach  the  sycamore  mentioned  as  the  corner  on 
the  bank  of  the  Kanawha." 

They  looked  at  his  work,  and  perceived  it  at  once. 
Mr.  Ballenger  thanked  Isaac,  and  invited  him  to  stay 
to  dinner ;  but  he  declined  the  invitation  on  the  plea 
of  a  business  appointment,  and  rode  away ;  not,  how- 
ever, before  he  expressed  his  regret  at  Hockley's  con- 
duct, and  hinting  that,  if  he  had  been  Mr.  Ballenger's 
land-agent,  Hockley  would  not  have  ventured  on  this 
course ;  or  even  if  he  had,  it  might  have  been  amica- 
bly and  advantageously  settled. 

On  his  first  visit  to  New  Hope,  Isaac  had  laboured 
under  great  disadvantages.  From  Carter's  letter  to 
him,  and  the  humble  and  plain  appearance  of  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger's dwelling,  and  almost  everything  about  it,  he 
had  presumed  that  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  family  were 
common,  ignorant  people,  of  the  lower  class  of  retail 
merchants,  and  that  his  free  and  easy,  assuming  busi- 
ness character  was  the  one  he  should  wear,  as  he  did 
during  at  least  the  early  part  of  his  first  visit.  It  would 
give  him  consequence,  and  favour  his  success,  he 
thought,  in  his  meditated  enterprise.  He  quickly  dis- 
covered his  mistake  the  next  morning.  Indeed,  that 
night,  in  the  chamber  appropriated  to  him,  and  on  the 
toilet,  he  saw  several  things  that  served  to  undeceive 
him.  Among  the  rest,  the  identical  copy  of  Shakspeare 
mentioned  above.  He  had  taken  it  up.  It  opened  to 
"  Measure  for  Measure"  and  there,  on  a  slip  of  paper, 
in  a  delicate  female  hand,  he  found  observations  on 
several  characters  in  the  book — Othello's,  Macbeth's, 
Falstaff's,  Desdemona's,  and  Isabella's  —  which  last 


THE    RESCUE.  143 

was  particularly  the  subject  of  analysis  and  of  admira- 
tion. It  is  a  pity  that  lago's  was  not  among  them.  H« 
might,  perhaps,  have  learned  something  that  he  did  noi 
know.  But  of  this  we  have  our  doubts,  as  Isaac  was 
tolerably  well  versed  in  the  general  principles,  at  least 
of  the  arts  practised  by  that  worthy.  He  copied  the 
paper  in  pencil,  and  replaced  the  original  between  the 
very  leaves  where  he  found  it.  There  was  also  a 
splendid  copy  of  the  New  Testament  on  the  toilet. 
This  he  also  opened,  and  left  it  open  at  the  twelfth 
chapter  of  Paul's  Epistle  to  the  Hebrews.  We  do  not 
say  that  he  read  it.  We  hope  he  did.  He  resolved,  on 
going  away  the  next  morning,  to  rectify  his  mistakes, 
and  to  wear  in  his  subsequent  visits  at  New  Hope  a 
different  character,  both  external  and  internal.  We 
have  seen  that  his  success  was  signal — fully  as  great 
as  he  calculated  on  :  for  the  opinions  of  Mr.  Ballenger 
arid  his  son,  and  especially  of  Miss  Matilda,  were  un- 
dergoing a  change  very  favourable  to  Mr.  Isaac  For- 
ster.  Uncle  Tom,  too,  saw  him  a  changed  man.  His 
ideas  of  gentility  were  considerably  shaken  by  Isaac's 
saying  to  him,  as  the  old  man  handed  to  him,  on  mount- 
ing his  horse,  the  beautiful,  highly-ornamented  riding- 
whip  which  Mr.  Forster  sported  on  that  occasion, 
"  Well,  friend  Thomas,  I've  got  the  fourpence  for  you 
to-day,  and  thank  you  heartily  for  your  care  of  my 
horse ;"  so  saying,  he  handed  to  him  a  silver  dollar. 

Uncle  Tom  looked  after  him,  as  he  rode  away,  for 
some  time,  and  then  at  the  money,  and  exclaimed, 
"  Thankee,  Massa  Forster  ;  thankee,  sar.  God  bless 
my  soul!  it's  mity  hard  to  find  out  people  at  fuss  in  de 
woods  out  here !" 

Uncle  Tom  was  right.  It  is  not  only  a  matter  of 
difficulty  to  find  out  people  at  first  "  in  de  woods,"  as 
he  expressed  it,  but  everywhere  else.  And  the  diffi- 
culty is  increased  to  us  when  we  are  placed  in  new 
situations,  and  among  a  people  differing  from  those  to 
whom  we  have  been  accustomed  ;  hence  the  mistakes 
and  misconceptions  of  travellers  in  regard  to  national 
character,  manners,  customs,  habits,  laws,  and  policy 


144  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

of  foreign  nations,  and  the  false  estimates  of  individu- 
al character.  The  indications  on  which  we  can  rely 
at  home,  and  in  regard  to  those  who  are  affected  by 
the  same  physical  and  metaphysical  causes  that  affect 
ourselves,  either  become  non-significant,  or  lead  us 
astray.  We  have  to  learn  a  new  system  of  signs  of 
notation  before  we  can  calculate  correctly.  Our  plus 
may  be  a  minus  ;  our  sign  of  involution  may  indicate 
evolution  ;  and  when  our  opinions,  even  of  individuals, 
undergo  a  change,  it  is  often  by  such  imperceptible 
Degrees,  or  owing  to  circumstances  so  slight  or  eva- 
nescent, that  although  we  feel  the  change  itself,  we  are 
at  a  loss  to  know  whence  it  has  arisen. 

In  Old  Virginia,  where  Uncle  Tom  had  received  all 
iris  impressions  in  regard  to  character,  gallantry  to 
women,  fashionable  dress,  fine  horses  and  equipage, 
including  the  riding-whip,  liberality  to  servants,  and  a 
certain  style  of  manners,  were  to  servants  the  signs  of 
gentility.  In  their  eyes,  no  man  devoid  of  these  could 
by  any  possibility  be  a  gentleman.  Though  some 
might  possess  them  who  did  not  properly  belong  to 
the  class — and  these  were  hard  to  find  out — all  others 
were  seen  at  a  glance  to  be  poor  folks — mean  white 
people — the  most  despicable  of  all  creatures,  in  the  es 
timation  of  an  aristocratic  slave,  the  consequence  and 
importance  of  whose  master  is  reflected  upon  himself. 

It  was  manifestly  impossible  that  Uncle  Tom  could 
conceive  Isaac  Forster,  on  his  first  visit  to  New  Hope, 
to  be  a  gentleman.  That  blanket  greatcoat,  and  old 
flopped  hat,  and  brusque  manner  of  speech,  settled  the 
matter  at  once  in  his  mind,  and  his  conversation  with 
Ben  Bramble  confirmed  it.  Now,  at  his  second  visit, 
all  the  signs  were  changed.  Massa  Forster  had  risk- 
ed his  life  to  save  Miss  Mattie.  Every  part  of  his 
dress  was  "  comme  il  faut"  even  to  his  gloves.  His 
horse  was  a  splendid  animal,  in  fine  condition.  His  sad- 
dle, bridle,  and  whip  unexceptionable  ;  even  in  the  crit- 
ical eyes  of  Uncle  Tom,  the  parting  words  to  him  were 
kind  and  respectful,  and  the  fourpence  was  a  Spanish 
milled  dollar.  Which  of  all  these  weighed  most  in. 


THE    RESCUE.  145 

the  scales  of  Uncle  Tom's  mind  it  is  impossible  to  de- 
termine ;  but  we  do  not  think  it  was  the  piece  of  mon- 
ey, except  as  being  the  outward  sign  of  the  liberal 
generosity  of  the  donor.  Thomas  had  given  the  strong- 
est proof  of  his  disregard  of  mere  pecuniary  consider- 
ations in  refusing  the  annuity  offered  to  him  by  his 
master  at  Alexandria.  Tom  was,  however,  perplexed 
and  puzzled.  His  opinions  were  modified,  but  not  en- 
tirely changed,  varying  from  the  chrysalis  to  the  phae- 
lina  state — from  the  worm  to  the  butterfly. 

It  so  happened  that,  just  as  Isaac  Forster  passed 
out  of  sight,  Ben  Bramble  came  up  to  Uncle  Tom  with 
two  wild  turkeys,  which  he  had  killed  on  the  hills 
northeast  of  New  Hope. 

"  iMassa  Ben,  you  ought  to've  cum  leetle  sooner,  to 
see  Mr.  Forster.  He's  jest  gone  away.  I  'clar,  1 
hardly  know'd  him.  He's  fine  as  a  fiddle — got  ebery- 
ting  bran  new.  He  look  slick  like  dat  gobbler  you  got 
dar.  He  ain't  no  more  like  he  was  dan  a  silk  pus  is 
like  a  sow's  ear.  He  look  like  a  raal  gentleman." 

"A  copperhead  sheds  his  skin,"  said  Ben,  "and 
looks  mity  brite,  but  that  don't  change  his  natur.  He's 
the  same  creepin',  crawlin',  venomous  creetur  with  the 
new  skin  that  he  wus  with  the  old.  Them  snakes 
ain't  to  he  trusted  ;  they  strikes  without  gain'  any  no- 
tice, and  they  charms  the  very  birds  that  they  first 
kivers  with  slime,  and  then  devours.  A  rattlesnake's 
got  some  generosity  in  him  ;  he  gives  warning,  and 
says  as  plain  as  a  dum  creetur  can  say,  *  Look  out, 
and  defend  yerself ;  and  if  you'll  let  me  alone,  I'll  let 
you  alone.' " 

"  Mr.  Forster  gin  me  this  dollar,  anyhow,"  said  Un- 
cle Tom,  tossing  up  the  bright  coin.  "  Thar's  gener- 
osity in  that,  Massa  Ben  ;  what  he  gwine  for  to  try  to 
charm  rue  lor  ?  He  can't  swaller  dis  nigger,  no  mat- 
ter how  hard  he  try." 

Ben  shook  his  head,  saying,  "  Zac  Forster's  arter 
no  good  here,  nor  nowhars  else.  Tain't  in  him,  and 
couldn't  be  dragged  out  with  ox-chains  if  it  was." 

u  He  behaved  mity  purty,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  "  and 


146  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

laffed,  and  talked,  and  played  de  flute  wid  Miss  Mat- 
tie,  and  sot  down  at  de  table  wid  ole  master,  whar  dey 
had  land  business,  papers,  and  de  sarvayin'  'struments, 
and  he  showed  'em  somethin'  wrong  'bout  de  land. 
Master  axed  him  to  dinner;  but  I  was  monstrous  glad 
he  didn't  stay,  for  we  had  nothin'  but  bacon  and  greens, 
and  taters  and  milk  for  dinner,  and  I  don't  like  to  see 
master  set  down  to  dinner  wid  cumpany,  and  only  dat 
on  de  table.  Tain't  zactly  right  to  ax  anybody  to  din- 
ner, widout  'tis  poor  folks  dat  step  in  widout  fust  assult- 
in'  de  lady  ob  de  house,  onless  'tis  so  long  before  de 
dinner  hour  dat  she  can  pervide  for  de  'casion  ;  and 
den  dey  mought  give  her  a  hint." 

Ben  thought  all  this  intelligence  very  strange,  and 
the  latter  part  of  it  not  the  least  so.  He  had  no  con- 
ception of  that  pride  of  appearances  for  their  masters, 
as  well  as  themselves,  which  actuates  the  slaves  of 
Virginia  gentlemen.  Thomas  was  unwilling  that  his 
young  mistress  should  go  even  to  a  place  of  worship, 
because  she  had  no  carriage  to  ride  in ;  and  he  would 
have  been  infinitely  more  mortified  than  his  master  to 
see  Isaac  sit  down  to  the  table  with  only  bacon  and 
greens,  and  potatoes  and  milk  on  it.  These  Ben  Bram- 
ble thought  enough,  and  good  enough,  for  anybody. 
How  often  had  he  invited  a  wayfaring  man,  who  was 
wending  his  way  down  the  rocky  path  that  led  by  his 
cabin,  to  partake  with  him  of  a  piece  of  broiled  ven- 
ison and  corn  bread,  without  a  sense  of  shame,  or  any 
cause  for  it,  gentle  reader,  ever  crossing  his  mind. 

Ben  Bramble  gave  the  turkeys  to  Uncle  Tom,  tell- 
ing him  they  were  for  his  master,  and  walked  into  the 
house.  ^  His  face  was  sad  and  thoughtful,  the  truthful 
index  of  his  heart  and  mind.  He  had  vague  but  strong 
fears  of  some  sinister  design  on  the  part  of  Isaac  For- 
ster  against  Mr.  Ballenger,  and  they  were  greatly  in- 
creased by  whai  he  had  just  heard.  He  believed  that 
Isaac  never  used  money  but  to  make  money,  and 
his  having  given  a  dollar  to  Thomas  he  could  not  see 
in  any  other  than  the  most  unfavourable  light.  How 
that  dollar  was  to  be  returned  to  him,  with  interest,  he 


THE    RESCUE.  147 

could  not  imagine,  yet  he  was  firmly  convinced  rhat  it 
was  given  with  that  view.  He  did  not  doubt  Thom- 
as's good-feeling  towards  his  master  and  his  family,  or 
his  fidelity  to  them  ;  and  he  took  it  for  granted  that 
Isaac  was  as  well  acquainted  with  the  feelings  of 
Thomas  as  he  was,  and  this  increased  his  perplexity. 
He  did  not  know,  as  Isaac  did,  that  a  few  dollars 
given  to  servants  had  gained  for  many  a  man  a  rich 
wife,  or  a  good  bargain  out  of  the  master. 

Ben  Bramble  found  Matilda  still  sitting  by  the  fire, 
at  work  with  her  needle.  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  son 
had  walked  out.  Depositing  his  gun  and  hunting  ap- 
paratus in  a  corner  of  the  room,  he  took  a  seat  by  the 
fire.  The  cloud  on  his  brow  attracted  Matilda's  atten- 
tion, and  she  said, 

"  I  hope  you  are  not  unwell,  Ben  ;  you  look  weary 
and  low-spirited  to-day." 

"  Not  sick  nor  tired,  but  sorry,  honey,"  said  Ben. 

"  Why  so  ?"  said  she. 

"  Zac  Forster's  been  here  to-day  tryin'  to  make  his- 
self  agreeable." 

"  And  ought  not  everybody  to  try  to  make  them- 
selves agreeable  ?"  said  Matilda. 

"  Yes,  when  they  do  it  from  good  natur,  and  mean 
it  in  nat'ral  arnest.  But  when  Zac  Forster's  most 
agreeable-like,  it's  my  notion  he's  most  dangerous  ; 
just  like  a  snake  that  makes  his  skin  shine  with  the 
most  beautiful  colours  when  he's  charmin'  a  bird.  I 
'spose  you  know  what  he  does  that  for." 

Matilda  blushed,  and  thinking  that  Ben  had  by  some 
means  discovered  that  Mr.  Forster  was  in  love  with 
her,  she  said, 

"  Ben,  he  may  charm  me  as  much  as  he  can,  I  shall 
hardly  fall  in  love  with  Mr.  Forster.  I  am  not  a  bird 
to  flutter  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  charmer." 

Ben  looked  up  at  her,  all  lovely  as  she  was,  and  suf- 
fused with  the  deepest  tints  of  the  rose.  A  new  Ii«ht 
broke  upon  his  mind.  The  object  of  Forster's  designs, 
he  thought,  stood  before  him,  and  he  iiad  had  no  IIIOIT 
idea  of  Forster's  loving  her,  or  aspiring  to  the  hand  of 


148  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

Matilda  Ballenger,  than  of  his  attempting  to  pluck  a 
star  from  the  heavens.  He  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
with  a  look  of  blasted  terror,  and  an  energy  of  expres- 
sion that  made  Matilda  tremble,  he  exclaimed,  fixing 
his  eyes  upon  her, 

'•  Matilda  Ballenger,  I'd  rather  see  a  painter  lapping 
yer  heart's  blood,  or  Simon  Grety  and  the  wild  In- 
juns roast  you  alive  after  tearing  off  that  beautiful  hair 
from  your  quiverin'  scull,  than  to  see  you  the  wife  of 
Zac  Forster.  I  love  you,  Matilda  Ballenger,  God 
knows,  but  not  with  a  lovyer's  love ;  I  ain't  such  a 
fool  as  that.  Bewar  of  that  man.  Don't  let  him  come 
nigh  you  ;  a  young,  innocent  creetur  like  you  don't 
know  what  some  men  can  do.  A  power  is  gin  'em 
over  the  hearts  of  women.  They  has  means  that  no 
mortal  woman  knows  on  or  can  hold  out  ;igin.  They 
has  the  gift  of  charmin'  the  same  as  the  wicked  sar- 
punt ;  and  the  poor  gal  they  fixes  thar  glarin'  eyes 
upon  comes  nigher  and  nigher,  while  he  circles  round 
and  round,  and  shines  brighter  and  brighter,  till  the 
faschinated  gal,  like  the  poor  bird,  enable  to  fly,  is 
seized,  and  gives  the  death  cry — too  late,  too  late  : 
all  the  brite  colours  is  gone,  and  the  poor  innocent 
creetur,  lookin'  on  him  with  her  dyin'  eyes,  sees  noth- 
in'  but  a  rough,  scaly  snake,  with  his  pison  fangs  in 
her  heart." 

"  Oh  !  don't  talk  so,"  said  Matilda  ;  "  my  dear,  kind 
friend,  you  make  me  shudder.  You  don't  know  what 
a  frightful  picture  you  have  drawn." 

"  It  ain't  a  pictur,"  said  Ben  :  "  it's  the  truth  ;  I've 
seed  it.  I  want  you  to  know  its  true,  to  guard  yerself 
agin  it,  that  vou  may  never  have  a  feelin'  experience 
of  it." 

"  Thank  you,  Ben,  thank  you  ;  but  be  assured  there 
is  no  danger." 

"  Thar  is  danger;  and  them  that  don't  see  it  is  apt- 
est  to  fall  into  it.  I've  seed  women  that  hated  a  man 
like  pison — wouldn't  let  him  tech  'em  ;  and  yet,  arter 
he  had  conjured  'em  in  some  onaccountahle  way,  they'd 
resk  life  for  him,  though  he  was  wicked,  and  mean, 


THE    RESCUE.  149 

and  ugly.  It's  a  gift,  Miss  Mattie,  as  sure  as  you  are 
born — a  secret  gilt.  Thar  was  one  Vincent  Wash  in 
Old  Vigirmy — mayhap  you  have  hearn  of  him.  He 
was  an  onfavoured,  onlarnt  man  of  the  common  sort, 
ongentlemanlike  in  his  manners,  and  not  rich  ;  yet  he 
married  seven  wives,  one  arter  another,  as  fast  as  they 
died  :  and  some  on  'em  was  quality,  high-larnt  gals, 
and  butiful,  that  had  plenty  of  other  men  to  ax  'em, 
too  ;  so  it  warn't  for  the  lack  of  a  husband  they  took 
him.  Some  women  marries  whether  or  no,  just  to  be 
married  (more  fools  they)  ;  but  that  warn't  ther  case 
that  married  that  man  through  conjuration  :  some  said 
it  was  powders;  some  said  it  was  his  breath,  or  some- 
thin'  that  come  out  on  his  eyes.  He  said  if  he  could 
only  git  nigh  enough  to  put  his  hand  upon  any  mortal 
woman,  she'd  be  sure  to  give  up.  Many  women  that 
heard  on  him,  and  some  on  'em  not  the  puniest  in  the 
world,  was  so  afeard  of  the  man,  that  they  said, '  Please 
God,  he  shouldn't  tech  'em  with  a  forty-foot  pole.' 
Many  men,  I  b'leve,  has  the  power  of  that  man,  that 
don't  know  it  twell  they  try,  like  them  as  can  find  wa- 
ter with  a  green  twig,  or  can  put  thar  thoughts  arid 
feelin's  into  sum  other  people  by  lookin'  in  ther  eyes 
and  holdin'  ther  thumbs.  I  tell  you,  bewar  of  Zac 
Forster.  I've  seed  him  do  strange,  onnat'ral  things 
with  my  own  eyes." 

(i  Why,  Ben,  the  days  of  witchcraft  are  passed," 
said  Matilda. 

"  Don't  you  b'leve  it,  honey.  Men  and  women  be- 
witch one  another  yit ;  and  some  men  can  do  other 
onnat'ral  things,  and  Zac  Forster  is  one  on  'urn.  I 
was  once  a  carryin'  a  chain  for  him,  Nat  Colly  and  1. 
He  was  on  afore  with  his  compass,  and  when  he  got 
to  the  bank  of  the  New  River,  we  seed  him  walkin' 
up  and  down  the  bank,  starin'  at  somethin'  on  t'other 
side.  So,  when  we  measured  up  to  the  water,  he  says, 
'  Well,  boys,  the  line  crosses  here  to  that  tree  on  the 
bank.  You  can't  measure  it  with  the  chain,  but  I  know 
the  distance.'  '  It's  in  the  deed,'  says  I.  '  No,'  says 
he,  '  the  man  that  measured  afore  was  no  conjurer,  and 


1 50  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

has  put  it  wrong  in  the  deed;  but  I've  measured  it 
while  you  were  comin'  up.'  Now  I  know'd  he  hadn't 
crossed  the  river,  and  had  never  bin  thar  before,  ibr  it 
was  jist  arter  he  come  out  here  from  the  old  settlements. 
'  How  fur  is  it  ?'  says  I.  '  If  I  was  to  tell  you  in  poles 
and  links,'  says  he,  '  you  wouldn't  know  ;  but  it's  ex- 
actly one  hundred  and  seventeen  yards  and  nine  inches.' 
And  off  he  went  to  the  ferry.  Nat  Colly  and  I  stared 
at  one  another.  'It's  guess-work,'  says  I.  'Let's 
measure  it,'  says  he  ;  '  I've  got  a  trout-line  jist  below 
here  long  enough  to  stretch  across.'  So  we  went  and 
got  the  line  and  Nat's  canoe,  and  we  measured  from 
the  last  stick  to  the  tree.  It  was  a  box  elder,  and,  as 
sure  as  I'm  a  livin'  man,  it  was  exactly  as  he  said — 
one  hundred  and  seventeen  yards  and  nine  inches ;  for 
Nat  had  a  two-foot  rule  in  his  pocket,  and  we  cut  a 
hickory  sprout,  and  made  a  yard  stick,  and  measured 
the  line  that  stretched  across  from  the  stick  to  the  tree. 
"  Arter  we  went  up  to  the  ferry  we  wer  talkin'  'bout 
the  distance  Nat's  rifle  would  carry  a  ball ;  Nat  was 
standin'  on  a  stone  in  the  yard,  and  he  said,  '  She'll 
carry  a  ball  from  whar  I  stand  straight  to  that  lower 
limb  on  the  big  wawnut-tree.'  '  She  won't,'  says  I, 
'  for  it's  two  hundred  yards,  and  the  ball  will  fall  some. 
She's  too  small  in  the  bore  for  that.'  He  up  with  his 
gun  and  blazed  away,  and  struck  just  below  the  limb. 
'  Thar,  now,'  says  I,  '  didn't  I  tell  you  so  ?'  '  It's  more 
nor  two  hundred  yards,'  says  he,  '  and  I'll  measure  it. 
Let's  go  in  the  house  and  get  a  ball  of  twine.'  For- 
ster  was  sittin'  in  the  porch  listenin',  arid  when  we 
cum  back — we  didn't  stay  ten  minks — he  says,  'You 
needn't  measure  ;  Nat's  right.  The  line  of  the  ball 
through  the  air  is  two  hundred  and  twenty-eight  yards 
and  a  half.'  '  Whar  from  ?'  says  I.  '  From  the  muz- 
zle of  his  rifle  as  he  stood  on  the  stone,'  says  he.  '  It 
can't  be,'  says  I,  '  and  I'll  measure  it.'  '  Why,  I  have 
measured  it,'  says  he,  '  better  than  you  can  with  any 
line.'  '  How  ?'  says  I.  '  By  a  conjuration,'  says  he. 
Well,  I  wasn't  satisfied.  '  Here,  Nat,  tie  this  eend  of 
the  string  round  the  gun,  and  make  a  knot  on  it  at  the 


THE    RESCUE.  151 

muzzle ;  stand  on  the  rock,  and  I'll  go  with  the  ball 
and  climb  the  tree,  and  then  do  you  take  aim,  and  I'll 
stretch  the  string.'  I  clumb  the  tree  at  least  thirty 
foot,  sat  on  the  limb,  and  done  it.  It  was  jist  as  For- 
ster  said.  Now  no  man,  by  nat'ral  power  and  fair 
means,  can  measure  a  line  through  the  air.  1  don't 
want,  and  I  don't  want  them  as  I  cares  for,  to  have  no- 
thin'  to  do  with  them  that's  got  onnat'ral  gifts." 

"  Why,  Ben,"  said  Matilda,  "  there's  nothing  strange 
or  unnatural  in  that ;  any  mathematician  can  do  the 
same." 

Ben  shook  his  head,  saying,  "  Mathee  Matician,  or 
Tommy  Matician,  or  Zaccy  Matician,  I  don't  want 
'em  'bout  me  if  they  are  like  Zac  Forster.  I  don't  be- 
lieve in  ghosts  and  sperrits  of  dead  men,  but  I  do  be- 
lieve in  onnat'ral  powers  and  gifts  in  livin'  men  and 
women." 


CHAPTER  XVIII. 

BEN,  seeing  Mr.  Ballenger  approach  the  house, 
took  up  his  cap,  and  went  out  to  meet  him.  They 
stood  conversing  in  the  yard  for  half  an  hour  ;  and 
Matilda  could  perceive,  from  Ben's  earnest  manner 
and  vehement  gestures,  the  deep  interest  which  he 
felt  in  the  subject  of  their  conversation. 

When  he  returned  to  the  house,  Ben  seemed 
more  cheerful.  The  cloud  had  passed  from  his 
brow.  Whether  he  had  been  inquiring  about  math- 
ematicians and  their  means  of  measurement,  and 
had  received  satisfactory  information,  or  had  been 
warning  Mr.  Ballenger,  or  communicating  matters 
of  importance  to  him,  we  shall  never  know,  I  pre- 
sume, as  neither  of  them  ever  made  the  most  re- 
mote allusion  to  that  conversation.  Ben  mention- 
ed to  William  Henry,  who  came  in  shortly  after- 


152  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

ward,  that  he  was  going  to  a  pigeon-roost  in  Teg's 
Valley  with  Nat  Colly,  Sam  Dyer,  and  Charley  Van- 
dal, who  were  to  meet  him  the  next  day  at  the 
mouth  of  Coa1.  River. 

"  Will  you  take  me  along  1"  said  William  Henry. 

"I  come  a  purpus,"  said  Ben  ;  "you'll  see  some- 
thin',  and  larn  somethin'  too,  though  some  people 
has  eyes,  and  yet  don't  see  nothin',  and  ears  too, 
and  can't  tell  the  screechin'  of  a  painter  from  the 
cryin'  of  a  child.  The  pigins  goes  from  the  oak 
and  beech  woods  on  all  the  hills  and  bottoms  on 
this  side  the  Ohio,  and  from  beyant  too,  I  guess,  to 
roost  at  one  place.  That's  a  power  on  'um,  I  tell 
ye,  if  it's  like  the  last  pigin  year.  I  was  thar  then, 
and  they  broke  down  a  matter  of  two  akers  of  tim- 
ber." 

"  Broke  down  the  trees !"  exclaimed  Matilda,  as- 
tonished. 

"To  be  sure,  honey;  that  is,  the  limbs  of  the 
trees,  a  lightin'  on  'em.  Master  Will  can  tell  you 
when  he  gets  back." 

Vast  flocks  of  pigeons  had  been  seen  for  several 
days  passing  by  all  in  one  direction,  and  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger  had  called  the  attention  of  his  son  and 
daughter  to  one  flock,  which  stretched  across  the 
heavens  from  the  northeast  to  the  southwest;  and 
although  they  were  flying  with  amazing  rapidity, 
it  was  fifteen  minutes  before  the  rear  of  the  column 
had  passed. 

"  Now,  let  us  suppose,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  that 
they  fly  only  twelve  hundred  yards  in  a  minute — 
and  they  are  said  to  fly  a  mile,  1760  yards,  in  that 
time — and  the  column  to  be  only  one  hundred  yards 
wide — and  I  am  sure  it  exceeds  that;  if  we  allow 
two  pigeons  to  the  square  yard  in  flying,  there 
were  then  400  times  the  length  of  the  column, 
which  was  18,000  yards  long:  this  gives  the  pro- 
digious number  of  7,200,000  pigeons  in  one  flock." 
Mr.  Ballenger  was  startled  at  the  result  of  his  cal- 
culation. 


THE    RESCUE.  153 

"Take  only  the  half  of  it,"  said  William  Henry, 
*'  and  what  an  amazing  number — upward  of  three 
millions  and  a  half  in  a  single  flight !  I  killed  one 
the  other  day,  and  he  had  at  least  a  gill  of  acorns 
in  his  crop.  Now  I  am  sure  that  more  than  four 
times  the  number  in  that  single  flock  passed  over 
during  the  day,  all  going  the  same  way — that  is, 
more  than  fourteen  millions  ;  and  if  they  only  fill 
their  crops  once  during  the  day,  they  would  con- 
sume 109,375  bushels  in  a  single  day,  and  in  the 
course  of  a  year  39,921,875  bushels:  more  than 
enough  to  feed  the  mighty  army  of  Xerxes  !  How 
are  these  creatures  sustained  through  the  whole 
year  1" 

"  God,  in  his  infinite  goodness,"  said  Mr.  Ballen 
ger,  "has  adapted  the  powers  of  his  creatures  to 
their  modes  of  existence.  The  teeming  earth  is 
the  pasture  of  all.  He  feeds  the  birds  of  the  air  as 
well  as  men  and  beasts,  and  he  who  accomplishes 
his  purpose  by  the  best  and  most  simple  means,  has 
made  a  few  feathers  the  instruments  to  birds  of 
obtaining  their  supplies  of  food.  They  have  not  to 
pay  the  cost  of  carriage.  The  consumer  is  carried 
to  the  food,  and  not  the  food  to  the  consumer. 
Birds  are  the  Arabs  of  the  air;  and  such  is  the  ra- 
pidity of  their  flight,  such  the  ease  with  which  they 
pass  over  great  spaces  in  a  short  time,  that,  when- 
ever their  appropriate  food  is  exhausted  in  one  part 
of  the  earth,  or  fails  to  be  produced  for  a  season, 
they  seek  it  elsewhere,  and  by  an  unerring  instinct 
find  it.  Take  these  pigeons  as  an  example  :  if  they 
only  fly  from  their  perch  during  one  hour  in  the 
morning  to  their  feeding  ground,  and  take  one  to 
return  at  nightfall,  they  have  eight  or  ten  hours  to 
ravage  the  fields  and  woods  to  the  distance  of  for- 
ty miles  from  the  roost;  so  that  they  can  lodge  at 
the  same  place  every  night  till  all  their  food  is  ex- 
hausted in  a  circle  around  it,  the  diameter  of  which 
is  eighty  miles,  embracing  an  area  of  more  than 
three  millions  and  seventy  thousand  acres." 
7 


154  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  They  go  furder  than  forty  miles  from  the  roost, 
or  the  double  on  it,"  said  Ben  Bramble,  "  to  feed 
in  the  day,  when  the  mast  is  gettin'  scase ;  for 
young  Uriah  Jenkins  cotch'd  some  in  a  spring-net 
beyant  Lewisburg.  He  put  pieces  of  paper  to  some 
ten  or  twelve  of  'urn,  mentionin'  the  place,  the  day, 
and  even  the  hour  when  he  let 'urn  loose,  and  three 
on  'urn  was  kilt  that  night  at  the  roost  in  Teg's 
Valley.  His  brother  Ben  was  thar,  and  seed  it, 
and  showed  it  to  me." 

"  How  do  they  take  them  with  spring-nets  1"  in- 
quired Matilda.  "I  should  think  they  would  fly 
before  you  could  approach  and  throw  a  net  over 
them."' 

"It's  done  by  a  desete,  honey,  as  most  innocent 
creeturs,  onsuspicionin',  is  carcumvented  and  made 
a  prey  on.  The  men  first  watches  whar  the  pi- 
gins  mostly  passes  over ;  they  then  goes  thar  be- 
fore they  begin  to  pass,  and  ties  some  pigins  by 
strings  to  little  stakes  driven  in  the  ground,  so  that 
they  can  flutter  about.  They  then  fixes  thar  net 
to  kiver  that  place,  when  the  man  that  is  hid  hard 
by  pulls  the  net  string.  The  pigins  flyin'  over,  see- 
in'  some  of  thar  fellow-creeturs  on  the  ground, 
flutterin'  about,  nat'rally  thinks  they  have  found 
food  thar,  and  down  they  come.  The  net  springs, 
and  they  are  kotch'd  in  the  snare.  Many  things, 
and  people  too,  is  tuck  in  that  same  way." 

"  That  is  true,"  remarked  Mr.  Ballenger ;  "  traps 
and  stool-pigeons  are  set  for  men  as  well  as  birds." 
Ben  Bramble's  idea,  that  strange  and  extraordi- 
nary powers  are  possessed  by  some  men,  is  not 
confined  to  him  even  in  these  enlightened  days  ; 
and  very  intelligent  persons  believe  in  the  power 
of  certain  individuals  to  transfuse  into  others  the 
impressions  and  sensations  of  their  own  senses  and 
minds,  so  that  a  sensation  or  thought  of  those  pos- 
sessing this  power  becomes  common  to  themselves 
and  the  persons  on  whom  this  power  is  exercised. 
If  this  be  true,  a  heavy  weight  of  responsibility 


THE    RESCUE.  155 

rests  upon  those  who  are  thus  gifted.  Ben  be- 
lieved that  iie  who  could  tell  the  length  of  an  air- 
drawn  line  mi.Qiht  possess  an  irresistible  power  over 
the  human  Elections.  The  one  was  not  more  in- 
comprehensible to  him  than  the  other;  and,  in- 
deed, it  would  be  difficult  for  more  learned  men 
than  Ben  to  assign  limits  to  powers  and  faculties 
in  others  which  we  can  neither  exercise  nor  com- 
prehend. His  fears,  therefore,  for  Miss  Ballenger, 
entertaining  the  belief  which  he  did,  were  not  only 
natural,  but  rational.  But,  had  Isaac  Forstcr  pos- 
sessed all  the  powers  of  earth  and  hell,  he  could 
not  have  prevailed  against  the  affections  of  Matil- 
da, for  she.  was  a  Christian.  Ben  did  not  think  of 
that  ;  yet  he  knew  that  trials  and  afflictions  are  the 
fining  furnaces  that  free  us  from  dross,  and  purify 
and  fit  us  for  heaven.  However  hot  the  fire  may 
be,  or  however  long  we  may  be  exposed  to  its  ac- 
tion, we  shall  not  be  consumed,  but  come  out  pu- 
rer, and  brighter,  and  more  beautiful.  How  light 
were  Miss  Ballenger's  present  afflictions  compared 
with  those  she  was  destined  to  endure!  The  poet 
has  said, 

"  Where  ignorance  is  bliss, 
'Tis  folly  to  be  wise." 

We  go  much  farther,  and  say  that  even  present 
sufferings  would  be  rendered  infinitely  more  hard 
to  bear  by  the  certain  knowledge  that  they  were  to 
be  still  greater. 

While  we  are  making  these  reflections,  Uncle 
Tom  was  removing  Ben  Bramble's  gun  and  its  ac- 
companiments from  the  corner  in  which  they  had 
been  placed.  He  looked  at  the  gun  with  great  at- 
tention ;  Ben  observed  it,  and  said, 

'•  That's  a  scatter  gun,  Thomas ;  the  best  sort 
for  birds  and  the  like  o'  that.  It'll  bring  down  a 
pile  of  pigins  at  one  fire." 

"I  know  all  about  him,  Massa  Ben  ;  'tis  de  fust 
duckin'  gun  I've  seed  out  here,  jest  for  all  de  world 
like  mine  in  Ole  Viginny." 


156  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

"Why,  can  you  shoot,  Thomas  1" 

"Lor'!  sir,  I've  kilt  more  white-back  ducks  at 
one  shoot  dan  you  «ould  shake  a  stick  at.  I  used 
to  go  a  duckin'  for  master  constant  on  de  Poto- 
muc.  Swans,  and  red-necks,  and  canvass  backs  in 
de  winter,  and  mallards  too  ;  and  in  de  summer,  de 
blue-wing  an'  summer  duck.  Me  and  ole  Duchess 
used  to  go  as  fur  down  as  Mount  Varnon,  whar 
Gineral  Washington  lived.  Duchess  had  as  much 
sense  as  a  human  ;  she'd  never  bring  out  a  dead 
duck  while  she  seed  one  a  flutterin'  off.  She  an' 
I  had  the  roughest  time  once  arter  a  crippled  duck 
you  ever  seed.  I  thought  she  was  gone  for  true. 
The  duck  div,  and  stayed  so  long  under  dat  she  div 
too,  and  dey  cum  up  onder  de  ice.  I  run'd  out, 
for  de  ice  would  bar  me  near  de  shore ;  but  when 
I  got  nearly  over  her,  I  broke  in  up  to  my  brest ; 
an'  seein'  de  poor  creetur  most  gone,  I  lambed 
away  on  de  ice  wid  de  gun,  an'  retch'd  her  as  she 
was  gwine  down,  and  raised  her  up  in  my  arms, 
throwin'  down  de  broken  gun,  stock  an'  all.  Please 
God,  1  was  glad.  You  tink  she  didn't  hold  on  to 
de  duck!  dat  she  did!  Master  gin  me  a  new  gun 
jist  like  dis  here  one  of  yourn.  'Twas  bigger  an' 
longer  dan  de  ole  one,  an'  carried  a  han'ful  of 
shot;  but  onless  you  helt  her  mighty  tight  to  your 
shoulder,  she  kicked  like  a  three-year  old  colt ; 
but  den  she  play'd  de  very  wild  wid  de  ducks.  I 
wish  I  had  her  out  here  now ;  dar's  some  few  scat- 
terin'  water-fowl  on  dis  ribber,  but  nothin'  to  corn- 
par  to  de  Potomuc.  Umph  !  umph  !  I've  seed  whole 
akres  kivered  wid  'em.  One  morning  I  crawled 
down  in  a  mash  whar  dey  was  feedin'  in  de  edge 
of  de  water  on  de  grass  seed;  Duchess  was  close 
behind,  crawlin'  too.  We  went  like  two  black- 
snakes,  slidin'  along,  for  she  was  as  black  as  me, 
wid  de  butifullest  long,  wavy  hair  in  her  tail  like 
an  osterridge's  fedder  ;  dem  as  knows  de  breeds  of 
dogs  called  her  a  true  New-Founderlander :  so, 
when  we  got  nigh  enuf,  thar  they  wer  by  thousands, 


THE    RESCUE.  157 

bobbin'  up  an'  down,  an'  talkin'  in  thar  landguidge 
like  so  many  French  Garmans.  I  tuck  aim  right 
in  de  thick  on  'um,  an'  blazed  away.  When  (ley 
riz,  'twas  like  thunder.  She  nocked  me  clean  ovei 
on  Duchess,  but  she  was  in  de  water  in  no  time 
an'  she  fotch  out  duck  arter  duck  ontwell  I  had 
forty-seven." 

How  long  Tom's  tongue  would  have  run  it  is  im- 
possible to  say,  if  Ben  had  not  interrupted  him  j  for 
ducking  had  been  one  of  the  things  on  which  Un- 
cle Tom  valued  himself  at  a  high  figure.  And  what 
real  sportsman  does  not  like  to  recount  his  past  ex- 
ploits '.  It  is  the  most  con  amove,  talking  in  this 
world.  No  old  lady,  once  a  reigning  belle,  loves 
to  recount  her  conquests,  or  does  it  with  more 
pride  and  pleasure,  than  your  true-blooded  fox-hunt- 
er or  duck-killer.  There  is  eloquence  even  in  the 
eye  of  a  little  boy  who  is  telling  how  he  shot  his 
first  ground-squirrel  and  robin-redbreast,  or  how  he 
hooked  his  first  sun-perch. 

"Did  you  ever  see  the  gineral V  said  Ben  Bram- 
ble to  Uncle  Tom. 

"  Many  a  time,  Massa  Ben ;  he  used  to  cum  to 
our  church  in  Alexandry.  Why,  sar,  he's  eat  din- 
ner at  our  house.  Ole  missus  of  all  was  de  darter 
of  Major  Wynne,  who  was  wid  de  gineral  at  Brad- 
dick's  defeat.  I  stood  behind  his  chair,  an'  had  de 
honour  to  wate  on  him.  Dar  was  he  an'  de  mad- 
am, an'  Major  Lewis,  an'  Judge  Mercer,  an'  Doc- 
tor Craick,  an  de  markiss  dat  come  all  de  way 
from  cross  de  big  water.  De  gineral  heself  led 
my  ole  missus  into  de  dinin'  room,  and  de  mar- 
kiss  led  Madam  Washington.  My  missus  worn't 
so  grand  as  de  madam,  but  she  was  de  likeliest, 
outifullest  lady  I  ever  seed,  mity  like  Miss  Mat- 
tie,  only  dar  was  more  on  her.  'Twas  right  for 
de  gineral  to  lead  her  in,  for  he  was  de  fust  man 
in  leadin'  in  eberyting.  None  dat  ever  was  made 
could  go  before  him.  De  truck  dat  he  was  made 
on  was  monstrous  scase,  Massa  Ben ;  thar  worn't 


158  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

enuf  to  make  sich  another.  I  watch'd  him  when 
de  passon  axed  de  blessin',  and  he  was  lookin' 
right  up  to  heben  for  it.  He  look'd  dar  for  it,  de 
gineral  did,  in  eberyting,  or  he  couldn't  a  brought 
us  out  on  de  trubbles  he  did." 

Mr.  Ballenger,  who  was  in  another  room,  called 
Thomas  at  this  point  in  his  description  of  the  gen- 
eral and  the  dinner  party,  or  Ben  would  doubtless 
have  heard  all  the  details,  for  it  was  one  of  the 
proud  days  of  Uncle  Tom,  was  that  dinner  party. 
We  can  say,  though,  that  on  that  day  General 
Washington  spoke  more  freely  of  Braddock's  de- 
feat than  was  his  wont.  It  must  be  recollected  that 
Mr.  Ballenger,  at  whose  table  he  was  dining,  was 
the  son  of  a  lady  whose  father  was  severely  wound- 
ed on  that  disastrous  day.  Washington  was  inti- 
mately acquainted  with  him,  and  set  a  high  value 
on  his  intrepid  bravery,  his  skill,  and  prudence. 
When  Braddock  made  the  rude  interrogatory  reply 
to  Washington's  advice,  which  has  been  so  often 
quoted,  this  officer,  who  was  by  the  side  of  Wash- 
ington, foresaw  the  result.  He  told  Washington 
that  his  prudent  and  excellent  counsel,  which  alone 
could  have  saved  the  army  and  Braddock's  own 
life,  would  be  thrown  away  on  a  brave  but  con- 
ceited military  martinet. 

"  Sir,"  said  Washington,  "  he  should  know  that 
an  officer  who  leads  men  into  a  country,  the  geog- 
raphy of  which  is  unknown  to  him,  against  an  en- 
emy with  whose  mode  of  warfare  he  is  unacquaint- 
ed, is,  in  all  human  probability,  throwing  away  the 
lives  of  his  men.  The  truth  is,  Braddock  believed 
that  British  bravery  and  British  discipline  could 
not  fail  to  route  the  rude,  untaught  savages  of 
America;  and  so  they  would  have  done  on  the 
plains  of  Flanders;  but  in  the  woods  here,  where 
every  bush  is  a  cover,  and  every  tree  and  rock  a 
fortification,  courage  is  vain,  and  discipline  itself, 
at  least  that  discipline  which  kept  the  troops  to- 
gether in  close  order,  a  disadvantage." 


THE    RESCUE. 

™  On  the  removal  of  the  cloth  after  that  dinner, 
William  Henry,  then  a  lad,  and  Mattie,  a  toddling 
little  girl,  were  seen  by  Mrs.  Washington,  through 
a  half-open  door  opposite  to  her  seat,  peeping  into 
the  dining-room.  "Let  the  children,"  said  she  to 
Mrs.  Ballenger,  "come  in."  The  mother  beckon- 
ed to  them.  Little  Mattie  ran  up  to  Dr.  Craick, 
the  family  physician,  with  whom  this  beautiful 
child  was  a  pet,  and  raising  herself  on  tiptoe,  whis- 
pered in  his  ear.  He  pointed  to  Mrs.  Washington. 
Mattie  timidly  approached  her,  and,  looking  up  into 
her  face,  said, 

"I  love  you,  madam,  because  you  love  the  good 
man  that  saved  grandpa's  life." 

Mrs.  Washington  kissed  the  child,  and  pointing 
to  the  general,  said, 

"  That  gentleman  conversing  with  your  father  is 
my  husband.  Will  you  go  and  thank  him  your- 
self!" 

"  If  brother  goes  too,  madam,"  said  Mattie. 

Mrs.  Washington  rose  from  her  seat,  and  beck- 
oning to  William  Henry,  to  whom  his  mother  was 
giving  the  names  of  her  distinguished  guests,  led 
them  to  the  general. 

"These,  sir,"  said  she  to  him,  "are  the  only 
surviving  descendants  of  Major  William  Henry 
Wynne." 

General  Washington  turned  to  the  children,  and 
looking  at  them  with  great  kindness,  took  their  of- 
fered hands,  and  said  to  William  Henry, 

"  Your  great-grandfather  was  a  brave  officer  and 
a  good  man  ;  may  you  inherit  his  virtues,  and  nev- 
er tarnish,  by  any  action  of  your  life,  the  honour- 
able name  you  bear." 

The  little  girl  looked  up  in  his  face,  and  said, 
"My  name  is  Wynne  too — Matilda  Wynne  Ballen- 
ger.'" 

The  general  placed  his  hand  on  her  head,  and 
said  to  her,  "  You  are  like  your  grandmother  in 
person;  I  hope  you  will  be  like  her  in  mind  and 


160  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

heart.  She  came  three  thousand  miles  to  nurse 
her  sick,  wounded  father,  and  perhaps,  by  her  fil- 
ial affection,  saved  his  life." 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  the  little  girl,  clasping  her  hands, 
"it  was  you  that  saved  his  life,  and  so  many  peo- 
ple's lives,  from  the  bad  Indians,  and  I  wanted  to 
thank  you  for  it." 

The  tears  came  into  her  eyes  as  she  looked  in 
his  face.  General  Washington  was  moved  by  the 
artless  gratitude  and  feeling  of  the  child.  He 
stooped  down,  and  taking  her  in  his  arms,  kissed 
her.  We  doubt  if  the  heart  of  that  great  and  good 
man  ever  felt,  in  the  applause  bestowed  by  mill- 
ions for  his  public  services,  a  purer  pleasure  than 
it  received  from  the  unaffected  gratitude  of  a  child. 
Whether,  amid  the  varied  scenes  and  incidents  of 
after  life,  he  forgot  this  simple  circumstance,  it  is 
certain  she  never  did.  When  Doctor  Craick,  many 
months  afterward,  took  her  upon  his  knee,  arid  was 
about  to  kiss  her,  she  exclaimed, 

"Oh!  don't,  doctor;  you'll  kiss  off  General  Wash- 
ington's kiss,  and  I  want  to  keep  that  as  long  as  I 
live." 

"Why,  what  will  you  do,  my  little  sweetheart, 
when  you  get  married  1"  said  he.  "You'll  lose  it 
then." 

"  No  I  won't,"  replied  she ;  "  he  shall  kiss  my 
cheek  or  my  chin  ;  he  sha'n't  kiss  off  General  Wash- 
ington's kiss." 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

BEFORE  the  dawn  of  the  next  day,  Ben  Bramble, 
William  Henry,  and  Uncle  Tom  had  left  New  Hope 
on  their  way  to  the  pigeon-roost  in  Teg's  Valley. 
The  latter  led  a  pack-horse  to  bring  home  the  game  ; 


THE   RESCUE.  161 

but  the  bag  was  not  empty  now.  In  many  cases, 
at  this  time,  prudent  huntsmen  carry  from  home 
more  meat  than  they  bring  hack  ;  but  it  was  not 
so,  at  the  time  of  which  we  are  writing,  on  the 
frontier  settlements.  Game  was  then  very  abun- 
dant there.  A  little  bread,  when  it  could  be  had, 
salt  and  tobacco,  were  all  that  huntsmen  carried 
with  them,  except  their  arms  and  ammunition. 

Miss  Ballenger  had  not  only  put  up  bread  and 
salt,  but  bacon,  tongues,  and  eggs,  and  Uncle  Tom 
had  put  in  the  other  end  of  the  sack  some  of  what 
he  called  his  "  contrements"  and  "  contrapsions," 
among  which  were  red  and  black  pepper,  ground 
coffee,  sugar,  and  several  canisters  and  bottles, 
with  a  short-handled  frying-pan  and  coffee-pot.  His 
pockets,  too,  were  stuffed  with  tobacco,  a  curry- 
comb, strings,  straps,  buckles,  thread,  awls,  needles, 
&c.,  &c.  They  intended  to  be  absent  three  or  four 
days,  and  he  was  provided  for  a  six  months'  cam- 
paign. 

They  crossed  the  Kanawha  at  the  Mouth  of 
Elk,  and  unexpectedly  overtook  Nat  Colly,  Sam 
Dyer,  and  Charley  Vandal,  who  came  down  from 
the  Loop  on  the  southwestern  side  of  the  river,  and 
expected  to  arrive  at  the  rendezvous  several  hours 
before  Ben  and  William  Henry.  All  of  them  had 
long,  smooth-bored  guns  except  William  Henry 
and  Uncle  Tom,  who  had  common  short  fowling- 
pieces. 

"  Here  they  are,"  said  Charley.  "  How  are  ye, 
Mr.  Ballenger  1  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  How  d'ye 
do,  Uncle  Ben  1  Why,  you  must  have  waked  up 
Mr.  Ballenger  before  he  went  to  roost  last  night, 
to  be  here  before  night  to-day.  Hellow,  Blackey  ! 
where  the  devil  are  you  going  rattling  along  with 
them  tin  pans,  and  turning  up  the  whites  of  your 
eyes  like  a  duck  in  thunder  ?." 

"Lor' !  massa,  I  gwine  to  wait  on  you,  and  pick 
up  de  plains,  if  so  be  you  kill  any." 

"Pick  'em  up,  indeed,"  said  Charley.  "Why, 
7* 


162 


NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 


you  wouldn't  get  over  the  pain  in  the  back  for  sev- 
en years  to  come." 

"How  you  gwine  git  'urn,  den,  massaV' 

"  Rake  'em  up,  you  old  rascal." 

"  What  wid  1."  said  Uncle  Tom. 

"Why,  with  a  bush  tied  to  a  horse's  tail,  just  as 
you  rake  down  curkle  burrs  in  corn-fields." 

Uncle  Tom  showed  the  whites  of  his  eyes  more 
than  ever.  Nat  Colly  said  to  him, 

"It's  well  for  you,  nigger,  that  it's  broad  day 
light,  or  that  young  chap  that  you're  talking  with 
would  shoot  you  to  a  certainty.     He  always  shoots 
at  things  that  shine  in  the  dark." 

"You  run  away  from  them,"  retorted  Charley, 
"  without  shooting.  Come,  now,  Nat,  none  of  that 
nonsense.  What's  your  name,  my  old  coon  1"  said 
Charley  to  Uncle  Tom. 

"My  name,  sar,"  said  the  old  man,  pulling  off 
his  hat,  "is  Thomas  Taylor;  but  my  'quaintances 
and  de  young  people  calls  me  Uncle  Tom." 

"  Well,  Uncle  Tom,"  continued  Charley,  "  you're 
a  Taylor,  are  ye  1  Did  you  ever  make  a  wooden 
jacket  1  Here's  a  man  in  this  company  that  wears 
one  when  he  goes  a  'possum  hunting  and  catches 
coons." 

"  I  ain't  a  tailor,  sar,  by  trade,  but  only  in  name  ; 
but  if  I  wus,  I  shouldn't  know  how  to  go  'bout  to 
make  a  jacket  out  on  wood.  What  sort  of  wood, 
massa  V' 

"Ask  that  gentleman,"  said  Charley,  pointing  to 
Sam  Dyer  ;  "  he's  the  man  that  wears  them,  and 
likes  a  tight  fit  at  that ;  so  tight  that  they  have  to 
split  it  on  the  back  with  a  hatchet,  and  he  comes 
out  like  a  locust." 

Uncle  Tom  was  looking  at  Sam  Dyer,  and  was 
about  to  ask  him  what  sort  of  wood  he  had  his 
jackets  made  of;  but  there  was  something  in  the 
expression  of  Sam's  face  that  deterred  him.  Sam 
drew  the  reins  of  his  bridle,  and,  looking  at  Char- 
ley, said, 


THE    RESCUE.  163 

"I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,  Vandal,  if  you  don't  let 
that  story  rest,  I'm  darn'd  if  I  don't  take  truer  aim 
at  that  rattle-brain  of  yourn  than  I  did  at  the  rock 
— enough's  enough." 

Ben  was  some  hundred  and  fifty  yards  in  ad 
vance  of  the  rest  of  the  party,  and  they  saw  him 
slip  ofThis  horse,  and,  bending  low,  glide  away  to- 
wards the  river.  They  halted,  and  a  moment  af- 
terward they  heard  the  report  of  his  gun.  His 
horse  remained  in  the  road  without  moving. 

"  Boys,"  said  he,  when  they  rode  up,  "  if  you 
hadn't  made  such  a  noise,  I  should  have  got  the 
buck — a  large  one,  too — instead  of  this  young 
thing."  He  had  killed  a  doe. 

"Bless  my  soul!"  said  Uncle  Tom,  "'twas  no 
use  bringin'  de  meat,  Massa  William  j  he  is  a  hunt- 
er for  true  ;  he  shoot  'urn  down  jist  like  a  beef  in 
de  pnstnr;  an'  dars  no  room  in  de  bag  for  him." 

"  Old  Skew  knows  how  to  carry  a  deer,"  said 
Ben  ;  "  he's  used  to  it.  Horses  is  monstrous  feard 
on  'em,  dead  or  alive,  twell  they  git  used  to  'em." 

"I  kin  carry  him,  Massa  Ben,"  said  Tom;  "jest 
heave  him  up  behind  me  ;  dis  horse  is  bound  to 
carry  whateber  I  put  on  him." 

The  entrails  were  taken  out,  the  head  was  cut 
off,  and  the  deer  thrown  up  behind  Uncle  Tom. 
The  rest  of  the  party  rode  on  while  he  was  fasten- 
ing it,  portmanteau-fashion,  with  a  piece  of  rope 
taken  from  his  pocket.  He  had  hardly  fixed  it  to 
suit  him,  and  taken  his  seat  in  the  saddle,  when  a 
few  drops  of  blood  from  the  neck  of  the  deer  trick- 
led down  on  the  horse's  flnnk;  in  an  instant  the 
frightened  animal  dashed  off  at  full  speed,  and  pass- 
ed the  party  like  a  whirlwind,  leaving  the  pack- 
horse  behind,  who  galloped  up  and  stopped. 

"Hold  him  hard,  my  race-rider,"  cried  Charley 
to  Uncle  Tom  as  he  swept  past  him  ;  "  hold  hi:n 
hard,  or,  by  George!  he'll  throw  you  off." 

But,  instead  of  holding  hard,  Uncle  Tom  was  ply- 
ing the  whip,  and  they  heard  him  say  to  the  horse, 


164  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

"You'll  be  tired  of  runnin'  wid  dis  nigger  'fore 
you  stop,  dat  you  will,  for  I  ain't  gwine  to  give  you 
any  time  to  do  'notin'  but  de  runnin'  twell  you've 
got  enuf  of  it." 

Thomas  was  an  excellent  rider,  and  kept  the 
horse  in  the  track  ;  and  when  the  party  came  up 
with  him,  the  bridle  was  lying  loose  on  the  horse's 
neck,  and  he  was  helping  himself  to  a  quid  of  to- 
bacco. 

"He  didn't  get  you  off]"  said  Ben. 

"  Oh  no,  Massa  Ben  ;  de  horse  has  to  be  foaled 
dat  can  do  dat  trick  wid  me,  if  I'm  watchin'  him, 
an'  he'll  only  run.  When  you  'low  'um  to  stop, 
an'  rear,  an'  put  de  head  between  de  fore  legs,  an' 
kick  up,  den  it's  sorter  troublesome  to  stick.  But 
I  ain't  had  sich  a  race  since  master  gin  me  de  Jews- 
harp." 

"  How's  that!"  asked  Charley,  looking  to  Will- 
iam Henry  for  an  explanation. 

"Ask  Uncle  Tom,"  said  William  Henry  j  "he 
can  tell.  It  was  really  a  laughable  scene." 

"  What  about  the  jewsharp,  Uncle  Tom  1"  asked 
Charley,  jumping  oft  his  horse  to  assist  the  old  man 
in  readjusting  his  trappings. 

"Tankee,  massa,"  said  Tom  ;  "dat  will  do.  He 
ain't  gwine  to  play  no  tricks  herearter.  He's  gin 
up  for  this  time,  anyhow." 

"But  the  jewsharp,  Uncle  Tom  1" 

"Well,  sar,  I  was  waitin'  on  massa  an'  anoth- 
er gemman  travelling  an'  de  horse  I  rode  was 
a  strong,  pony-built  creetur,  able  to  carry  two 
ob  me,  an'  de  portmantle  besides;  but  he  was  so 
oncommon  lazy,  an'  his  hide  so  onsensibul,  dat 
I  couldn't  git  him  along  ;  an'  what  made  me  mad- 
der wid  him  was  dat  he  grow'd  fatter  an'  more 
lazier  ebery  day.  I  whipped  an'  1  spurred,  but 
I  mought  as  well  a  bin  tirin'  my  arms  an'  legs 
on  a  wooden  horse.  He  wouldn't  go  any  faster 
dan  he  chused,  an'  dat  was  jest  to  keep  me  so  fur 
behind  dat  I  couldn't  hear  de  gemmen  talk,  an' 


TIIE    RESCUE.  1G5 

dat's  a  great  cumfort  on  de  road  when  you  ain't  got  no 
fellow-survunt  'long  to  talk  wid.  I  got  so  lonesome  I 
don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  it  hadn't  bin  for 
backer.  Dat  help  de  cause  sum.  When  we  got  to  a 
little  town,  or  passed  a  house  wid  a  sign,  or  a  church, 
he'd  come  to  a  dead  stand  jest  as  if  he  had  to  preach 
dur,  and  we  had  a  reg'lar  fight  before  he'd  budge  a 
step  furder.  I  got  tired  of  fightin'  him,  an'  whenever 
I  came  to  a  tavern  or  a  church,  I  used  to  turn  him 
tail  foremost,  an'  back  him  by.  But  he  had  no  reli- 
gion in  him,  nor  conshance,  for  all  dat.  When  we 
wus  passing  in  dat  oncommon  way,  the  people  laughed 
at  him  an'  me  too,  an'  he  wus  sich  a  fool  he  didn't 
mind  dat,  for  he  didn't  mind  nothin'  but  quick  motion 
an'  an  empty  manger.  I  felt  sometimes  like  gittin' 
down  when  I  wus  out  on  sight,  an'  killin'  him,  an'  tell- 
in'  massa  dat  he  died  of  a  n't  of  de  colic  or  de  ap- 
plexy. 

"  Well,  sar,  at  last  I  ax'd  master  to  buy  me  a  jews- 
harp  for  cumpany,  tellin'  him  how  lonesome  1  wus,  an' 
how  onpossible  it  wus  to  git  along.  He  bought  de 
j(!wsharp,  an'  gin  it  to  me.  We  had  hardly  left  de 
little  to  A  n  whar  lie  bought  it,  when  Dardevil —  dat 
uas  his  numo — dropped  behind  as  ushuul,  an'  left  me 
a  matter  of  a  quarter  of  a  mile  behind.  1  fust  tuck  a 
chaw  of  backer,  an'  when  dat  gin  out,  I  out  wid  de 
jewsharp,  an'  puttin1  her  to  my  mouf,  I  hadn't  fotch 
more  than  a  lw.ing  Iwang,  when  Dardevil  raised  up  his 
head  so  high  he  like  to  have  hit  me  in  de  face.  He 
turned  his  ears  dis  way  an'  dat,  listenin'  to  hear  if  dat 
ting  dat  made  de  oncommon  noise  wus  nigh  to  him. 
He  had  stopped  stock  still.  I  seed  he  was  a  trimblin', 
an'  1  fotch  another  twang  twongee,  an'  bless  God  !  if 
he  didn't  bolt  right  off  like  a  quarter  horse.  I  held  him 
hard,  an'  let  him  run.  Masser  an'  de  odder  gem  man 
heard  us  a  cummin',  an'  tinkin'  dat  sometink  wus 
ruiui'd  mad,  they  clar'd  the  track,  an'  soon  as  Dardevil 
ktitch  up  wid  'urn,  he  runn'd  right  jam  between  'um, 
an'  like  to  have  knock'd  bof  of  'em  off;  an'  den  he 
btopt  so  short  he  like  to  have  sont  me  over  his  head. 


166  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

'  What  is  the  meanin'  of  this,  sir  ?'  says  master,  soon 
as  I  got  bref  to  speak.  '  It's  de  jewsharp,  sir,'  says  I. 
'  Dardevil,  when  he  heard  it,  thought.  I  b'leve,  sir,  it 
wus  some  oncommon  sort  of  a  horsefly,  big  enuf  to  eat 
him  up,  fat  as  he  is,  and  he  tore  off'  wid  me  at  sich  a 
lick  dat  I  couldn't  hold  him.  He's  as  hard  to  hold, 
when  he  gits  to  runnin',  as  'tis  to  git  him  at  it.'  '  What 
do  you  mean,'  said  Mr.  Carter, '  by  tellin'  sich  a  tale  as 
dat,  you  old  villun  ?'  Dardevil  had  hurt  his  knee  run- 
riin'  between  him  an'  master,  an'  he  wus  as  mad  as 
fire.  '  It's  de  truf,  sar,'  says  I.  '  Don't  you  see  how 
he  trimbles  yet,  massa  V  Dardevil  had  now  got  back, 
by  tugsin'  an'  pullin',  to  de  rear  of  de  gemmen,  an' 
he  wus  turnin'  his  head  fust  to  de  one  side,  an'  den  to 
de  odder,  listenin'  for  dat  horrid  sound  dat  scared  him 
so ;  an'  when  dey  wheeled  into  de  road  an'  went  on, 
it  wus  as  hard  to  hold  him  back  as  it  wus  afore  to  git 
him  along.  Whenever  dey  lef  him  a  leetle  way  be- 
hind, he'd  rush  up,  in  spite  of  all  I  could  do,  rite  be- 
tween 'urn.  '  You  see,  massa,'  I  said, '  how  'tis.  He's 
out  on  his  senses  wid  fear.  I  didn't  tell  you  no  lie.  I 
neber  did  deseve  you,  sar,  'cept  'bout  gwine  off  to  see 
Dinah  in  de  night  when  you  told  me  I  was  to  stay  on 
de  lot.  I  did  use  to  steal  off  sometimes  arter  you  wus 
gone  to  bed.'  Well,  sar,  1  didn't  play  de  jewsharp  no 
more  fur  curnpany,  but  jist  kept  it  to  scar  Dardevil 
wid,  an'  I  neber  had  no  trouble  wid  him  arter  dat. 
He  got  so  oneasy  wheneber  dey  lef  him,  dat  it  tuck 
all  my  strength  to  keep  him  from  knockin'  'um  off  thar 
horses.  He  was  always  listenin'  constant. 

"  Master,  jist  to  try  him  one  time,  made  me  lag  be- 
hind twell,  by  hard  holdin',  I  wus  a  matter  of  forty  yards 
behind,  an'  I  jist  fotch  one  twang  ;  I  hadn't  time  i'ur  de 
twong,  fur  he  like  to  have  jump'd  from  onder  me  ,  an' 
as  he  tore  off,  he  actilly  tried  to  kick  up  on  his  own 
Back.  The  portmantle  straps  broke,  he  hunch'd  up 
his  back  so  high  ;  my  hat  flew'd  off',  an'  when  he  got 
between  'um  1  was  fairly  on  his  neck ;  an'  thar  he 
stood  listenin'  an'  lashin'  out,  an'  stompin'  like  a 


THE   RESCUE.  167 

scared  debil  as  he  wus.     It  tuck  me  a  half  hour  to  git 
fixed  agin.     Dis  frolic  wid  de  deer  ain't  notink  to  it." 

"  Look  here,  old  gentleman,"  said  Chariey  Vandal, 
"have  you  got  that  jewsharp  now  ?" 

"  No,  massa ;  it  got  broked  in  Ole  Viginny." 

"  If  you  had  it,  Uncle  Tom,  and  would  sell  it  at  a 
fair  price,  I'd  buy  it.  But  I'll  have  one,  any  how,  and 
give  it,  Sam,  to  your  sister-in-law,  Joanna  Huff,  to  play 
a  tune  on  to  old  Ball  that  she  rides  to  meetin'.  She 
has  a  blessed  time  on  him.  Ride  as  slow  as  they  will, 
the  young  men  can't  keep  with  her,  and  she  hates  it 
worse  than  pison  ;  for  I  believe  she'd  go  to  mauling 
box  elder  if  she  could." 

•'  Why  the  devil  don't  you  try  her,  then  ?"  said  Nat 
Colly.  "  Jest  get  in  one." 

"  No,"  said  Charley,  "  I  ain't  fond  of  close  places 
and  tight  fits.  Parson  Jenkins  shall  never  be  my  tail- 
or, unless  he  learns  to  make  looser  and  easier-fitting 
garments  than  he's  made  for  some  people.  Look  ! 
look  at  the  pigeons  !  going  from  the  roost,  I  reckon,  by 
thousands  and  tens  of  thousands." 

"  Yes,"  said  Ben  Bramble,  "  going  to  find  the  acorns 
and  beechnuts ;  they'll  all  be  back  at  night." 

"  Did  you  ever  see  so  many  living  creeturs  at  one 
time  ?"  said  Charley,  turning  to  Uncle  Tom,  whose 
head  was  bent  back,  and  his  mouth  and  eyes  stretched 
wide  open,  staring  at  the  pigeons  passing  over  his 
head. 

"  I  don'  know,  massa — I  b'leve  I  has  in  de  water." 

"  Where  ?"  inquired  Charley. 

"  In  de  Potomuc  Riber,  sar,  when  de  dogwood  blos- 
sums  fust  puts  out  in  de  spring  ob  de  year.  I've  help 
haul  de  seine,  and  in  layin'  her  out,  de  water  wus  tick 
as  mush  wid  de  herrings  for  miles  and  miles.  One 
time  we  cotch  four  hunderd  and  fifty  thousand  at  one 
haul." 

"  What  ?"  said  Charley.  "  Look  here,  old  gentle- 
man, ain't  you  got  acquainted  with  one  Jimmy  Dixon 
— Stretch-blanket  Jimmy  they  call  him — since  you 
come  out  here  ?" 


168  KEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  Oh,  yes,  massa,  he  come  to  our  house  to  sell  mas- 
ter a  horse.  I  had  heap  a  talk  wid  him.  But  he 
couldn't  cum  ober  dis  child  wid  his  ole  broken-down 
creetur  dat  he  had  fattened  up  to  sell.  I  told  massa 
all  'bout  de  ole  figg'd-up  ting,  an'  so  Mister  Dixon  had 
to  keep  him  leetle  longer." 

"  I  thought,"  said  Charley,  "  that  Jimmy  learnt  you 
to  count  herrings." 

"  Lor,  massa,  it's  de  solid  truf.  Ax  Massa  William 
here." 

Charley  looked  at  William  Henry. 

"  Uncle  Tom  has  told  you  nothing  but  the  truth," 
said  William  Henry,  "  strange  as  it  may  seem." 

"  What  in  the  world  do  they  do  with  them?"  inqui- 
red Charley  Vandal. 

';  Uncle  Tom  can  tell  you  that  too,"  responded  Will- 
iam Henry. 

"  Dey  makes  small  bone  bacon  on  'um,"  said  Uncle 
Tom,  "  as  I  heard  Massa  Bramble  say  dey  did  of  de 
pigins  out  here  in  dis  wild  country,  an'  dey  puts  'um 
in  carts  to  sell  to  de  farmers  to  feed  de  niggers  on  ; 
an'  in  de  fishin'  season  huriderds  of  waggons  comes 
down  to  de  shore  10  buy  'um  fresh,  an'  carry  'um  home 
to  salt  up.  It's  a  sort  of  a  frolic-iike  wid  de  poor  folks 
to  go  to  de  fishin'  shore  for  tish.  But  dey  is  mity  good 
for  gentle  folks  for  breckfiist,  wirl  coffee  an'  light  bread 
an'  butter  —  mity  rclishin',  massa.  You  neber  eat 
any  ?" 

"  Not  I,"  said  Charley. 

Nat  Colly,  who  was  a  short  distance  ahead,  had 
stopped  at  an  Indian  mound  near  the  bank  of  the  river. 

"  What  now  ?"  said  Ben  to  him,  as  he  rode  up. 

"  1  seed  a  strange  thing  here  last  summer,"  said  Nat, 
"  and  I  was  looking  to  see  if  the  bones  of  a  blacksnake 
was  here  yet  that  I  killed,  and  laid  right  here  on  thi? 
Injun  grave  ;  but  they  ain't  here  now,  though.  The 
buzzards,  I  reckon,  carried  him  and  the  rattlesnake 
lha  he  had  in  him  off." 

"  One  snake  swallow  another  ?"  inquired  William 
Henry. 


THE   RESCUE.  169 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Nat.  "  I  was  sittin'  down  restin' 
on  this  heap  of  earth  and  bones,  when  I  heard  some- 
thin'  slidin'  and  rustlin'  along  jest  thar  on  the  bank  of 
the  river.  I  riz  up,  and  I  seed  a  rattlesnake  movin'  slow- 
ly towards  me.  Every  now  and  then  he  stopt,  coiled 
up,  and  rattled.  I  know'd  somethin'  was  to  pay  from 
his  manuvers  ;  and  lookin'  all  round  him,  I  discovered 
a  big,  long  blacksnake  about  eight  foot  from  him. 
Every  time  the  rattlesnake  moved  on,  he  moved  too  on 
one  side,  keepin'  even  with  him.  When  the  rattle- 
snake stopt  for  battle,  he  stopt  too,  but  kept  out  of  stri- 
kin'  distance.  They  kept  at  this  for  some  time  ;  at  last, 
quick  as  an  arrow,  the  black  rascal  had  him  by  the 
neck  just  back  of  his  jaw,  and  such  a  scufflin',  and 
turnin',  and  twistin'  between  two  devils,  I  never  seed 
afore.  The  blacksnake  was  too  strong  for  him,  and 
wound  round  him  till  they  fairly  got  into  a  ball,  and 
over  and  over  they  rolled  for  some  time.  I  could  see 
the  blacksnake  squeezin'  tighter  and  tighter,  as  if  he 
would  cut  him  in  two.  After  a  while  they  began  to 
uncoil  ;  and  the  blacksnake,  still  holdin'  on  with  his 
mouth,  stretched  him  out  right  straight.  The  rattle- 
snake's body  moved  a  little,  and  'most  before  I  could 
see  it,  the  blacksnake  was  wrapped  all  round  him  again, 
and  squeezin'  like  a  vice  ;  then  he  uncoiled  again,  and 
stretch'd  him  out  by  goin'  forward.  The  rattlesnake 
was  dead,  and  the  black  murderer  know'd  it,  for  he  let 
go  his  hold  and  come  round  in  front,  and  then  he  took 
the  rattlesnake's  head  in  his  mouth,  and  seemed  as  if 
he  was  goin'  to  swallow  him  like  drawin*  on  a  stock- 
in'  ;  but  then,  again,  he  drew  back,  and  left  a  slime  all 
over  his  head  and  neck  like  soft-soap.  He  did  this 
two  or  three  times,  and  then  he  went  to  work  in  arnest 
swallowin'  him,  like  he  was  crawlin'  over  him  inch  by 
inch,  twell  he  got  him  down.  Twas  amazin',  for 
though  the  blacksnake  was  a  foot  or  more  the  longest, 
the  rattlesnake  looked  mity  near  as  big  as  he  was  in 
the  body.  When  he  had  finished  his  dinner,  I  finished 
him,  and  laid  him  right  here." 

"  Rattlesnakes  has  many  inimies,"  said  JBen  Brain- 


170  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

ble,  "  besides  ther  own  relations :  hawks,  and  hogs, 
and  deer,  as  well  as  men." 

"  How  do  deer  manage  to  kill  them  ?"  asked  Will- 
iam Henry. 

"  Why,  they  stomp  'em  to  death,"  replied  Ben. 
"  When  a  deer  sees  one,  he  comes  up  jest  so  close 
that  the  snake  can't  strike  him,  and  bringin'  all  four 
feet  together,  thar  he  stands  twell  the  snake  uncoils  to 
move  off ;  then  he  jumps  high  in  the  air,  and  lights 
with  all  four  sharp  huffs  right  on  him,  and  then  they 
are  off  agin  in  less  than  no  time.  They  fix  another 
time,  and  light  on  him  time  arter  time,  twell  they  cut 
him  all  to  pieces.  But  of  all  the  foolishist  fightin'  I've 
seen  yitr  turkey  gobblers'  fight  the  foolishist.  They 
fust  wallop  one  another  with  ther  wings :  I  can  see 
some  sense  in  that;  but  then  they  seize  bill  in  bill,  un- 
derholt  and  upperholt,  and  tug  and  pull  twell  they  are 
tired  ;  but  narry  one  will  let  go,  and  thar  they  stand  for 
hours,  the  biggest  fools  I  ever  seed.  If  one  happens 
to  let  t'other  git  him  by  the  snout,  he'll  let  him  chaw 
it  off,  and  won't  cry  enuf  then.  Last  spring,  in  strut- 
tin'  time,  I  kotch  two  fine  gobblers  while  they  wer 
fightin'  that  way.  I  heard  'em  nigh  the  falls,  in  the 
woods,  wallopin'  one  another,  and  I  sneaked  up  like 
an  Injun,  fust  behind  one  bush  or  tree  and  then  another, 
twell  I  was  quite  nigh.  Thar  I  stood  watchin'  'em 
twell  they  took  bill  holt,  and  had  worried  themselves 
tryin'  to  swaller,  as  it  wer,  one  another's  heads ;  all 
at  once  I  grabbed  'em  both  by  the  legs  before  they  sus- 
picioned  any  inimy  but  themselves.  Sich  a  puttin', 
puttin',  you  never  heard  as  they  made.  They  desarv- 
ed  it,  they  did,  the  fools.  Fightin'  is  a  foolish  busi- 
ness, any  how,  from  man  down'ard  to  turkey  gobblers. 
I  never  seed  nothin'  got  by  it  yit." 

It  was  now  near  three  o'clock  in  the  evening,  and 
Uncle  Tom  had  been  wondering,  for  the  last  hour,  if 
these  white  men  never  thought  of  eating  dinner.  He 
knew  nothing  of  the  habits  of  frontier  hunters,  who, 
like  Indians,  eat  when  they  have  time  and  are  hungry, 
if  they  have  anything  to  eat.  He  was  much  pleased  to 
hear  Nat  Colly  say, 


THE    RESCUE.  171 

"  Well,  hoys,  it's  time  to  camp  ;  we  are  'in  a  mile  or 
so  of  tlie  roost." 

"  No,  no,"  said  Ben,  "  lei's  get  'in  a  quarter  of  a  mile 
fust,  and  leave  Uncle  Tom  to  fix  and  cook  while  we 
go  on  to  the  roost  and  prepar  for  the  pigins  when  they 
come." 

"  I  tell  you  what,  Massa  Ben,  you  musn't  leave  dis 
nigger  by  hissclf  in  dese  woods.  He'll  run  away,  or 
git  kilt  by  a  painter  or  a  bar,  or  some  wild  varmint." 

"  The  horses  will  bo  with  you,"  said  Ben. 

"  And  what  for  good  they  gvvine  do  me  ?" 

"  I'll  stay  with  him,"  said  Charley,  "  and  make  a 
shelter,  and  keep  the  whites  of  his  eyes  from  gettin' 
any  bigger." 

"  Take  care,  Snowball,"  said  Nat ;  "  that  young  man 
will  shoot  you  to  a  certainty  if  you  show  anything  shi- 
ning. He's  used  to  it." 

"  Never  fear,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Charley.  "  I  set 
too  high  a  value  on  you  for  that ;  besides,  I  couldn't 
pay  for  you  as  easy  as  for  HufPs  old  horse." 

Ben  went  forward,  and  selected  their  camping  ground 
near  a  spring  of  fine,  clear,  cool  water.  The  party 
dismounted,  took  off  their  saddles,  &c.,  hoppled  their 
horses,  and  turned  them  loose.  With  their  tomahawks 
they  cut  two  long  poles,  and  rested  the  larger  ends  on 
the  ground  and  the  smaller  on  the  limb  of  a  tree ; 
against  these  other  poles  were  placed. 

"  Go  ahead,"  said  Charley  ;  "  I'll  fix  the  rest  before 
you  get  back  from  the  roost.  Strike  a  light,  Tom,  and 
make  a  rousing  fire,  and  go  to  work  on  the  deer." 

Charley  was  busily  employed  in  barking  trees  to 
cover  the  shelter,  which  he  accomplished  in  a  very 
short  time,  and  made  a  cover  that  would  resist  the 
hardest  rain.  lie  then  cut  branches  and  bushes,  and 
covered  the  ground  within  the  woodland  tent  at  least 
a  foot  deep ;  over  these  he  spread  their  saddle-blan- 
kets. He  then  cut  two  forked  limbs,  sharpened  the 
ends,  and  drove  them  down  on  opposite  sides  of  the 
fire,  throwing  a  polo  across  from  one  crotch  to  the 
other. 


172  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

"  There's  a  pot-rack  for  you,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  he. 

"  Tank'ee,  Massa  Charles.  You  look  in  de  right 
hand  of  dat  bag,  an'  you  will  find  one  black  bottle  an' 
a  horn  tumbler." 

Charley  willingly  obeyed,  and  on  a  sort  of  freema- 
son's sign  from  Uncle  Tom,  he  removed  the  cork,  and 
found  that  the  bottle  contained  excellent  spirits. 

"  Try  him,  massa,"  said  Uncle  Tom,  "  wid  de  mouf 
as  well  as  de  nose."  And  after  the  smacking  of  Char- 
ley's lips  assured  him  they  were  to  his  taste,  he  said, 

"  How  you  like  him,  massa  ?" 

"  First  rate,"  said  Charley.  "  You  are  a  boy  aftei 
my  own  heart,  you  are,  you  old  rascal." 

"  I  brought  him  jist  to  keep  off  de  colic  an'  de 
chills  wid,  an'  I  feel  now  dat  a  leetle  drap  will  do  me 
good — help  de  cause  sum."  So  saying,  Uncle  Tom 
helped  himself  to  what  Charley  called  a  "  darnation 
heavy  slug." 

"  Now,  Uncle  Tom,  while  we  are  together  in  these 
woods,"  said  Charley,  "  I  want  you  to  remember  that 
I  am  a  weakly  young  man." 

"  I  won't  forgit  you,  Massa  Charles,"  said  Tom 
"  wheneber  I  has  de  colic  or  de  chills  myself." 


CHAPTER  XX. 

4- 

WHILE  the  preparations  were  thus  going  on  merrily 
at  the  camp,  the  party  who  had  gone  to  the  pigeon- 
roost  returned  with  a  very  favourable  report.  Ben 
Bramble  had  led  them  around  the  circumference  of  the 
roost,  indicated  by  broken  limbs  of  trees  and  the  chirp- 
ings of  the  birds.  He  selected  a  particular  point  on 
the  edge  of  the  roost,  whence  they  would  fire  at  the 
pigeons.  It  was  about  forty  yards  from  the  thick- 
spreading,  pliant  limbs  of  an  oak,  on  which,  it  was  ap- 
parent, vast  numbers  had  congregated.  He  made  with 


THE    RESCUE.  173 

brushwood  what  is  called  a  llfod,  so  as  to  conceal  the 
party  from  the  birds  when  they  came  to  perch  on  that 
tree.  The  blind  was  not  needed,  he  said,  to  kill  the 
pigeons,  but  to  enable  the  party,  Master  Will  in  par- 
ticular, early  in  the  evening,  to  see  the  coming  and 
settling  down  of  the  "  storm  of  livin'  creeturs." 

This  done,  they  returned  to  camp.  Uncle  Tom  and 
Charley  were  ready  for  them.  They  all  went  first  to 
the  spring,  washed,  and  drank.  Charley,  looking  sly- 
ly at  Uncle  Tom,  complained  of  the  coldness  of  the 
water. 

"  I  feel  sorter  chilly  and  colicky-like  myself,"  said 
Uncle  Tom.  "  Dar's  a  bottle  by  de  venson  steaks,  mity 
good  for  dat,  Massa  Charles." 

"  Come,  boys,"  said  Ben,  "  let's  fall  to.  By  the 
time  the  cravins  of  natur  is  satisfied,  the  pigins  will  be 
comin',  and  we  must  be  at  the  roost  before  'em." 

Charley  took  the  bottle  and  tumbler,  poured  out  some 
of  the  contents,  and  began  to  swallow,  but  he  dropped 
the  tumbler,  arid  cried  out  to  Uncle  Tom,  who  was 
looking  at  him  with  great  gravity, 

"  You  black  rascal,  you've  killed  me — burnt  me  up 
solidly.  What  the  devil  is  this  ?"  holding  up  the  bottle 
with  one  hand  and  compressing  his  mouth  with  the 
other. 

"  Nothin'  but  pepper  viniger,  massa  ;  mity  good  for 
de  colic :  but  I  thought  you  seed  this  worn't  t'other 
bottle." 

"  Oh  ho !"  cried  William  Henry,  "  there's  another 
bottle,  is  there  ?  and  Mr.  Vandal  has  been  taking  a 
dose  without  a  doctor,  and  when  his  friends  were  ab- 
sent, too." 

"  He's  a  mity  rash  boy,"  said  Ben,  "  anyhow.  He 
looks  like  he  had  bin  swallowin'  melted  lightwood 
knots." 

"  Melted  fire's  nothin'  to  it,"  said  Charley.  "  Well, 
old  White-eyes,  you've  cured  me  of  the  colic,  and 
chills  too,  for  one  while — whceoo  /" 

"  Lor',  Massa  Charles,  1  raaly  thought  you  know'd 
what  was  in  dat  bottle,  dat  I  did,"  said  Uncle  Tom, 


174  KEW  HOPE;  OK, 

bringing  the  other  bottle  ;  "  dis  here  is  de  physic,  gem- 
men,  dat  he  made  .mistake  'bout.  Take  a  dose,  Massa 
Ben." 

They  all  followed  Ben's  example  except  Charley, 
who  declared  he  was  hot  enough  in  the  craw  already, 
and  expected  every  moment  a  blaze  would  burst  out 
from  his  mouth  and  set  his  nose  on  fire. 

A  most  sumptuous  and  hearty  meal  they  made,  al- 
though chips  were  their  only  plates,  and  the  grassy 
ground  their  table.  Gentle  reader,  did  you  ever  take 
your  food  in  that  way  ?  If  not,  try  it.  They  not  only 
had  excellent  appetites,  but  Uncle  Tom  had  brought 
some  strong  provocatives  of  the  stomach,  one  of  which 
Charley  had  tasted.  Besides  this,  he  had  brought 
mushroom  catsup  and  mustard.  Behold  in  this  wood- 
land camp  the  primary  causes  of  the  corruption  of  men 
— the  decline  and  fall  of  empires — luxury.  Here  was 
a  Corinthian  among  the  Spartans  ;  and  the  Cogniac 
brandy,  the  pepper  vinegar,  catsup,  and  mustard  came 
along  with  him.  When  even  hardy  hunters  acquire  a 
taste  for  these,  what  then  1  All  history  proclaims  the 
near  and  remote  consequences.  But  they  have  risen 
from  the  ground,  and  we  must  leave  our  reflections  to 
follow  them  to  the  pigeon-roost,  whither,  after  picking 
their  flints  and  putting  on  their  powder-horns  and  shot- 
pouches,  they  immediately  went. 

"  Empty  the  bags,  and  hang  up  everything  that  hogs 
and  wolves  love,"  said  Ben  to  Uncle  Tom.  "  Bring 
the  bags,  and  come  on." 

Away  they  strode.  It  was  just  before  sunset.  They 
seated  themselves  on  the  ground  within  the  blind,  and 
Nat  said, 

"  Now,  boys,  when  the  pigins  come,  don't  be  in  a 
hurry  to  shoot,  and  spread  your  fire  from  right  to  left 
so  as  to  kiver  that  whole  tree-top,  and  you'll  bring  'em 
down  in  style.  Don't  shoot  twell  I  give  the  word,  and 
then  fire  all  at  once." 

It  was  a  still,  calm  evening,  with  a  few  clouds  hang- 
ing around  the  disk  of  the  setting  sun.  They  formed 
a  gorgeous  tent  for  the  retiring  god  of  day,  glowing 
with  sold  and  purple,  and  eds"ed  with  silver  light. 


THE   RESCUE.  175 

"  The  wind  is  rising,"  remarked  William  Henry : 
"  I  hear  it  like  the  distant,  hollow  murmur  of  the  ocean. 
Listen  !  don't  you  hear  it  coming  nearer  and  more  dis- 
tinct ?  It  will  spoil  our  sport,  1  fear." 

"  Yes,  I  hear  it,"  said  Ben ;  "  the  storm  is  comin', 
sure  enough,  and  it'll  be  nigh  us  presently ;  but  it's 
the  storms  of  pigins,  I  guess." 

"  Hush  !  hush  !"  said  Nat :  "  listen  what  a  roar." 

"  Good  Heavens  !  can  that  be  pigeons  ?"  said  Will- 
iam Henry.  "  How  it  grows  louder  and  louder !" 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Charley,  "  like  a  thunder- 
gust.  Now  they  sweep  down." 

Crash,  crash,  went  the  limbs  of  the  trees,  scarcely 
audible  amid  the  hurricane.  It  was  awfully  sublime 
—  terrific.  Thousands  upon  thousands,  precipitating 
themselves  in  close-crowded  columns  on  the  groaning, 
bending,  and  breaking  limbs  of  large  trees,  and  thou- 
sands more  on  the  backs  and  above  those  that  had 
gained  a  footing  on  the  trees,  were  descending  in  dark 
masses  of  living  things  :  and  still  they  came  in  larger, 
heavier,  darker  clouds,  with  thundering  sound.  The 
cracking,  and  creaking,  and  crashing,  and  falling  of 
overloaded  limbs  were  faintly  heard  in  the  whirlwind 
of  wings.  Not  the  uproar  of  battle  could  be  more 
stunning  and  terrible.  No  one  thought  of  firing  a  gun. 
Uncle  Tom  sat  with  his  mouth  wide  open,  amazed  and 
terror-stricken. 

"  Here  they  come,"  said  Ben  ;  "  to  your  right — to 
your  riglit,"  he  repeated,  in  a  voice  like  a  trumpet,  yet 
it  could  scarcely  be  heard.  "  Look  between  us  and 
the  sun." 

It  was  a  cloud  of  pigeons,  so  large  and  dense  that 
it  obscured  almost  every  ray  of  light,  and  was  descend- 
ing like  an  avalanche  to  overwhelm  everything.  Down 
they  swoop.  Ben  seized  his  gun,  as  if  personal  dan- 
ger threatened  him. 

"  Now,  boys,"  said  Nat,  "  give  it  to  'em." 

Bang — bang — bang.  The  very  reports  of  the  guns 
seemed  obstructed  and  deadened  in  their  sound,  and 
the  thumping  dop,  dop,  dop,  of  the  birds  striking  the 
ground  as  they  fell  dead,  could  hardlv  hn  ltea«-.l 


176  NEW  HOPE;  OB, 

"  Load  and  fire  agin,"  said  Ben. 

This  they  did  five  or  six  times,  when  Nat  Colly 
cried  out,  "  Stop  !  that'll  do  ;  you  can't  carry  away  half 
of  what  we've  killed." 

The  wounded  birds,  in  great  numbers,  were  actually 
fluttering  on  the  ground  up  to  the  blind.  Uncle  Tom 
could  hardly  be  prevailed  on  to  sally  out  and  pick  them 
up.  He  did,  however,  go  when  his  young  master 
went  before  him,  and  before  they  reached  the  tree, 
had  filled  his  bag.  The  others,  also,  had  now  stuffed 
the  other  bags  full,  and  Ben  and  Nat  then  commenced 
stringing  them.  This  was  done  by  running  a  knife 
between  the  tendons  and  the  leg  bone  of  one  leg,  and 
thrusting  the  foot  of  the  other  leg  through  it ;  a  rope 
was  then  passed  between  the  legs  thus  fastened  to- 
gether, and  thus  long  lines  of  birds  were  formed. 
These  lines  they  swung  on  a  pole,  and  carried  be- 
tween them  to  the  camp  when  they  left  the  roost. 

"  Lor',  Massa  Ben,  what  we  gwine  do  wid  all  dese 
on  de  ground  now  ?" 

"  Leave  them  thar,  Tom,  for  the  hogs,  and  wolves, 
and  bears,  and  'possums." 

William  Henry  proposed  that,  before  returning  to 
camp,  they  should  walk  around  at  least  a  part  of  the 
roost,  for  the  discharge  of  guns  by  others  not  of  their 
party  had  been  heard  at  intervals.  They  walked 
off,  and  soon  met  with  several  persons,  men  and 
boys,  some  with  guns  and  others  with  poles,  actually 
threshing  down  the  pigeons  from  the  lower  limbs  of 
the  trees. 

"  Why,  Cousin  Charley,  is  this  you  ?  Hellow, 
here's  Uncle  Ben,  and  Nat  Colly,  and  Sam  Dyer  too !" 
shouted  a  little  curly-pated  fellow,  without  any  hat  on 
his  head,  and  a  long  pole  in  one  hand  and  a  bunch  of 
pigeons  in  the  other. 

"  How  d'ye,  my  son  ?"  said  Ben.  "  Fine  fun,  ain't 
it,  thrashing  down  birds  like  plums  ?" 

"  Ain't  you  gwine  down  to  our  house  1  Thar's  plen- 
ty of  meat  now  on  Mud  and  Guyan." 

"  Not  this  time,"  said  Ben ;   "  we  jist  stepoed  down 


THE   RESCUE.  177 

here  to  see  the  pigins,  and  get  a  sprinklin'  on  'em 
afore  they  break  up  the  meetin'." 

"  Well,"  said  another  youngster,  "  you  needn't  shoot 
a  gun,  Uncle  Ben.  It's  jist  vvastiri'  powder  and  lead. 
I  kin  knock  you  down  in  no  time  more  nor  you  kin 
carry.  Thar's  lots  on  'em,  ain't  thar  ?" 

"  Thank'ee,  my  son,"  said  Ben  ;  "  we've  got  pl&nty 
on  "em." 

"  I  reckin',  then,  'twas,  you  shootin'  we  heard  t'other 
side  ?" 

"  Yes,"  said  Ben,  "  we  kilt  some  that  way." 

"  We  got  four  bags  chock  full  last  night,"  said  curly- 
head,  "  and  Jim  and  I's  got  three  a'ready  to-night. 
Mammy  and  the  gals  is  a  pickin'  constant.  Pigins, 
pies,  and  fether-beds  ain't  nothin'  to  talk  on  now  at  our 
house,  and  daddy's  a  saltin'  up  every  day.  Is  you 
seen  him  and  Uncle  Joshua?  They  went  round  a 
while  ago." 

"  No,"  said  Ben,  "  but  I  heard  yer  daddy's  gun  jest 
now." 

"  He  will  shoot,"  said  the  boy,  "  jest  for  the  fun  of 
it,  for  it's  of  no  manner  of  use." 

It  was  now  near  eight  o'clock,  and  a  clear,  starlight 
night.  The  party  took  leave  of  the  boys,  who  were 
still  knocking  down  the  birds,  and  returned  to  the  blind. 
Sam  and  Nat,  to  whom  this  scene  was  no  novelty,  hur- 
ried back  to  camp,  and  brought  a  couple  of  horses  to 
carry  the  pigeons.  When  they  arrived,  Charley  said 
to  Uncle  Tom, 

"  Well,  old  Pepper  Vinegar,  what  do  you  think  of  the 
pigeons  ?  will  they  count  with  your  herrings  in  the 
Potomuc  ?" 

"  I  don'  no,  massa ;  thar's  a  'bun'ance  on  'urn,  but  dey 
makes  sich  a  noise  an'  hullabaloo,  I  can't  tell.  Fish- 
es is  dumb  creeturs,  an'  don't  make  sich  a  racket  an' 
show,  but  I  b'leve  dey  is  as  numbersome,  any  how. 
It's  raaly  scary  to  see  de  pigins  dark'nin'  do  sun,  an' 
brakin'  down  de  trees,  an'  a  roarin'  like  de  world  was 
coinin'  to  an  eend.  Lor',  massa,  what  a  gardin  spot 
de  ground  dar  would  make  !  It  wouldn't  want  manu- 
s 


178  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

rin'  for  a  himderd  years  to  come  for  sparrowgrass  beds, 
an'  lettices,  an'  collard  plants,  an'  sallary ;  thar's  no- 
thin'  I  ever  tried  to1  be  compared  to  de  sweepin's  of  de 
pigin-house.  If  I  jest  had  what's  on  de  ground  dar  at 
Alexandry,  I  could  make  a  small  fortin." 

Ben  directed  all  the  birds  to  be  emptied  out  of  the 
sacks,  and  spread  so  as  to  get  cool.  Several  that  had 
been  only  slightly  wounded,  or  only  stunned,  flew 
away.  A  large  fire  was  kindled,  and  Ben  seemed  dis- 
posed to  lie  down,  but  the  younger  members  of  the  par- 
ty and  Uncle  Tom  insisted  on  having  a  pigeon  supper. 

"  Well,"  said  Ben, ';  go  to  work,  Thomas.  I'll  pick 
the  birds." 

Uncle  Tom  soon  had  them  on  the  fire,  some  broil- 
ing, and  some  roasting  and  frying,  for  he  had  in  his 
canisters  both  butter  and  lard.  That  black  bottle,  and 
another  like  it,  was  produced ;  but  Charley  Vandal 
was  especially  careful  in  smelling  before  he  tasted,  al- 
though several  others  had  drank  before  him,  saying  to 
Uncle  Tom,  "  You  don't  catch  me  again,  you  old  vil- 
lain ;  you  did  it  on  purpose,  I  do  believe." 

"  Oh  no,  massa ;  'twas  a  teetotal  mistake  of  yourn, 
I  'clar'." 

Venison,  and  bacon,  and  coflee  were  added  to  the 
pigeons  by  Uncle  Tom,  who  took  no  little  pleasure  or 
pride  in  culinary  preparations.  While  they  were  en- 
joying that  supper,  which  William  Henry  thought 
among  the  most  savoury  he  had  ever  eaten,  Sam  Dyer 
said  to  Charley, 

"  This  here  all  but  equals  the  supper  at  the  marridge 
of  Darnell's  darter." 

"  Not  by  a  long  slipe,"  said  Charley :  "  the  eatin'  is 
as  good — can't  be  beat ;  but  whar's  the  gals,  and  the 
fiddles,  and  the  boys  cuttiri'  round,  and  the  jokes,  and 
that  dandy  tailor,  with  his  long-tail  blue,  that  beat  all 
the  fools  I  ever  seed,  playin'  the  big  bug  among  the 
gals,  till  your  wife  that  is  now,  Sam,  when  he  tried  to 
kiss  her  arter  a  jig,  told  him  it  took  a  man — '  That  is,' 
said  she,  'jest  seven  of  you,  to  do  it  V  The  fellow  felt 
the  needles,  I  tell  ye :  he  sneaked  away  like  a  dog 


THE    RESCUE.  179 

with  his  tail  between  his  legs ;  he  didn't  cut  a  shine 
or  a  dido  arter  that.  But  you  did,  Charley,  around  that 
pretty  Miss  Lay  ton." 

"  I  couldn't  help  it,  Sam  ;  she  sot  me  all  on  fire  ; 
she's  the  nicest,  sweetest,  plumpest  little  pigin  of  a 
gal  I  ever  seed.  And  then  her  dancin'  beats  every- 
thing— reel,  congo,  rigadoon,  or  jig,  it  makes  no  odds. 
Them  little  feet  of  hern  keep  time  to  everything  ;  by 
jing,  she  never  tires.  She's  the  gal  to  take  a  two- 
year  old  by  the  tail  and  shake  his  horns  off." 

"  Why,  you  must  have  lost  your  heart  to  that  Miss 
Layton,"  said  William  Henry. 

"  So  he  does  to  every  pretty  gal,"  said  Sam  Dyer. 

"  Not  quite,"  said  Charley.  "  Joanna  couldn't  come 
it  over  me,  any  how,  though  I  acknowledge  the  corn 
to  that  Miss  Layton." 

"  That  was  a  wicked  trick  you  wanted  to  play  off 
on  Joanna  'bout  the  stockings,"  said  Nat. 

"  But  she  was  farly  up  with  me  that  time,  I  know," 
replied  Charley.  "  Old  Ball,  that  I  wanted  the  Jews- 
harp  for,  Mr.  Ballenger — she  always  rides  him — like  to 
have  fallen  down  with  Joanna  in  going  to  the  weddin'. 
He  stumbled  in  a  mudhole,  and  splashed  the  mud  all 
over  her  stockings.  So  she  didn't  know  what  to  do, 
for  she  loves  to  show  off  in  dancin'.  I  persuaded  her 
to  pull  'em  off  and  paint  her  ankles  with  puccoon,  and 
they'd  pass  for  the  nicest  kind  of  yeller  silks.  She 
got  mad  as  fire,  and  says  she,  '  You'll  do  it  for  me,  I 
suppose,  Mr.  Vandal  ?'  '  Oh  yes,  Miss  Joanna,'  says 
I,  '  if  you'll  only  let  me  paint  the  tyes  too.'  '  That's 
above  your  business,  sir,'  said  she,  and  she  give  me 
sich  a  slap  as  all  but  knocked  me  off  my  horse.  She 
wouldn't  speak  to  me  agin  all  the  evenin'." 

"  Charley  hain't  told  you  one  thing  that  he  did  that 
night,"  said  Nat,  "  nor  what  was  done  to  him  next  day 
'bout  that  stockin'  frolic  of  hisn  ;  and  as  he  is  so  back- 
'ard  a  youth,  I'll  tell  on  him.  The  liquor  gin  out,  Mr. 
Ballenger,  at  the  weddin'  before  nine  o'clock,  and  thar 
was  none  nigher  than  Skaley's,  over  in  the  Loop,  about 
a  mile  and  a  half  from  the  Hawk's  Nest.  Darnel,  at 


180  KE\V  HOPE;  OR, 

whose  house  the  weddin'  was,  lived  jest  above  the 
Hawk's  Nest,  on  the  same  side  of  the  river.  What 
does  Charley  do  but  strap  a  four-gallon  runlet  on  his 
back,  and  in  a  dark  night  go  down  that  path,  hardly 
wide  enough  for  a  dog  in  the  daytime,  that  passes  from 
the  top  of  the  New  River  cliff  down  to  the  river  jest 
above  the  Hawk's  Nest.  He  crossed  the  river  in  a 
canoe,  went  up  the  cliff  on  the  other  side  to  Skaley's, 
and  fotch  back  four  gallons  of  whiskey.  I  wouldn't 
a  tried  it  for  a  pile  of  gold  that  would  reach  from  the 
New  River  up  to  that  pine  bush  that  hangs  over  the 
top  rock  at  the  Hawk's  Nest.  A  man  that  ain't  used 
to  it  can't  go  up  or  down  thar  in  broad  daylight.  It's 
dizzier  work  than  climbin'  a  ladder  seven  hunderd  feet 
high." 

"  Charley  ain't  born  to  be  killed  that  way,"  said 
Ben,  "  or  he'd  bin  berried  long  ago." 

"  I  recollect  that  path,"  said  William  Henry ;  "  we 
stopped  near  the  Hawk's  Nest  a  day,  in  coming  out  to 
examine  that  most  remarkable  place ;  and  in  walking 
up  the  river  on  the  cliff,  I  saw  that  path,  and  was  afraid 
to  venture  down  it.  A  single  false  step  would  have 
sent  me  headlong  many  hundred  feet.  That  feat  of 
Mr.  Vandal  was  the  most  daring,  hazardous  thing  I 
ever  heard  of." 

"  Well,"  said  Nat  Colley,  "  after  Charley  arriv  with 
the  whiskey,  the  dancin'  and  frolickiri'  went  on  fast- 
er than  ever,  and  he  changed  the  place  of  some  of 
that  whiskey  from  rear  to  front,  and  he  played  the  fid- 
dle, and  danced  all  at  the  same  time.  He's  the  broth 
of  a  boy,  I  tell  you,  when  he's  a  leetle  sprung,  as  he 
was  that  night.  So  he  goes  up  to  Joanna  and  says, 
'  I  ain't  had  the  pleasure  of  seein'  you  dance  to-night, 
Miss  Joanna'  (she  hadn't  danced  any  on  account  of  that 
mud  on  her  stockings) ;  '  let's  you  and  I  show  the  nas- 
tiest ankles  in  this  crowd.'  She  give  him  sich  a  look 
as  would  have  scorched  all  the  hair  off  a  wild-cat. 
Her  brother,  Billy  Huff,  heard  him,  and  seed  her  looks  , 
he  was  mad  with  Charley  for  cuttin'  round  Patsey 
Layton,  for  Bill  was  hankerin'  arter  her  himself.  So 


THE    RESCUE.  181 

ne  watched  his  opportunity,  and  giving  Charley  a 
wink,  they  walked  out  together.  '  What  now,  Bill  ?' 
said  Charley.  '  A  fight  or  a  marridge,'  says  Bill ; 
'  that's  what  it  is,  Mr.  Vandal ;  you  shall  make  up  to 
Joanna  for  insultin'  her,  by  marryin'  her  strait  off,  or 
fight  me,  one  or  t'other.'  '  Why,  Bill,  you  are  out  on 
your  senses,'  says  Charley ;  '  I  never  insulted  a  gal 
in  my  life.  I  thought  Joanna  could  take  a  joke,  and 
if  her  feelings  is  tech'd  in  the  least,  I'll  ax  her  ten 
thousand  pardons.'  '  Pardons  won't  do,  Mr.  Vandal ; 
you've  carried  the  matter  too  fur,  to  first  court  a  gal  and 
then  insult  her ;  winniu'  her  heart,  and  then  tryin'  to 
break  it.'  '  Bill,  I  never  courted  Joanna,  and  you 
know  it.'  '  If  you  ain't,  you  ought  to,'  said  Bill ;  '  and 
you  shall  either  ease  her  feelings  in  that  way  or  fight 
me.'  '  I  don't  want  to  do  either,'  said  Charley  ;  '  but 
if  it  comes  to  that,  Billy  Huff,  I'll  give  you  a  fight  to 
oblige  you.  But  I  shall  not  marry  Joanna,  to  oblige 
her  or  you  either ;  and  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Billy, 
since  I  see  what  you  and  she  are  arter,  Kd  sooner 
fight  the  whole  family  than  live  a  cat  and  dog  life 
with  her  for  one  week,  let  alone  a  lifetime.'  '  Very 
well,  sir,'  said  Bill ;  '  I'll  spoil  your  frolickin'  with 
Patsey  Laytou  arter  to-night,  or  try  for  it,  anyhow.  I 
won't  kick  up  a  row  with  you  to-night,  and  break  up 
the  party ;  and  maybe,  Vandal,  when  you.  get  cool, 
you'll  think  better  of  this  night's  work,  and  do  the  gen- 
teel thing.'  '  When  and  whar  shall  I  meet  you,  Billy 
Huff?'  '  To-morrow  mornin',  after  breakfast,  at  the 
Mouth  of  Ganley.'  '  Very  well,  enough's  said,'  re- 
plied Charley  ;  and,  turning  on  his  heel,  he  came  into 
the  house.  So  soon  as  he  got  a  chance,  he  went  up 
to  Joanna,  and  said,  '  Miss  Joanna,  I've  heard  that  I've 
hurt  your  feelings  this  even-in'.  Nothin'  was  furder 
from  my  intentions  ;  I'm  raaly  sorry  for  it,  and  humbly 
ax  your  pardon.'  She  looked  at  him  black  as  thunder, 
put  up  her  handkerchief,  and  begun  to  sob ;  so  he 
moved  off,  and  made  right  up  to  Miss  Lay  ton,  and 
danced  and  joked  with  her,  till  Joanna,  lookin'  at  'em, 
all  but  went  into  fits.  However,  after  awhile  the  tail- 


182  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

or  sneaked  round  and  got  a  seat  by  her,  and  that 
seemed  to  comfort  her  some,  though  she  was  watchin' 
Charley  and  Miss  Layton  constant. 

"  The  party  didn't  break  up  till  late.  The  next  day 
I  went  to  the  Mouth  of  Ganley  pretty  early,  taking 
several  of  the  boys  with  me,  for  I  know'd  Charley  and 
Bill  \yould  fight  if  I  couldn't  make  it  up ;  and  I  was 
determined,  if  they  did  fight,  to  see  fair  play.  I  know'd 
thar  was  no  back  out  in  Bill ;  and  I  thought  Charley 
was  a  game  chicken,  though  I'd  never  then  seed  him 
clap  his  wings  or  heard  him  crow.  His  daddy  was  an 
old  Revolutioner.  I  heard  him  once  tell  of  ther  hang- 
in'  a  Tory  that  they  kotch  the  mornin'  after  he  had 
burnt  down  the  house  over  the  head  of  a  woman  whose 
husband  had  fought  agin'  them  under  Marion.  '  Yes,' 
said  his  wife, '  and  the  Tory  warn't  cold  before  you  had 
on  his  breeches.'  '  That's  true,'  said  the  old  man  ;  '  but 
then  breeches  was  breeches,  monstrous  hard  to  get,  and 
the  Tories  wore  the  best  got  from  the  British.'  Well, 
Charley  got  on  the  ground  first,  and  told  me  all  about 
it,  and  said  he  had  no  ill-will  agin  Bill,  but  that  all  the 
Huffs  in  creation  shouldn't  force  him  to  marry  Joanna  ; 
that  he  had  no  more  courted  her  than  he  had  his  own 
grandmother  j  and  if  Bill  wanted  a  fight,  he  supposed 
he'd  have  it ;  but  as  to  fighting  him  into  a  marridge, 
he  didn't  think  it  could  be  done  :  '  For  if  he  licks  me,' 
said  Charley,  '  or  I  lick  him,  Joanna  '11  be  no  furder 
from  an  old  maid  nor  nigher  a  husband  than  she  is 
now.'  Billy  soon  rode  up,  and,  gettin'  down — Sam, 
you  was  with  him — said  to  Charley,  '  Well,  Vandal,  I 
hope  you  have  changed  your  mind,  and  don't  mean  to 
fight  me.'  '  I  don't  mean  to  marry  Miss  Joanna  Huff, 
Billy.'  '  We  fight,  then,  sir,'  said  Bill.  '  That's  as 
you  please,'  said  Charley.  Billy  begun  to  strip,  and 
Charley  followed  suit.  At  it  they  went,  and  I  never 
seed  a  harder,  or  a  fairer,  or  a  prettier  stand-up  fight 
in  all  my  days.  After  some  of  the  tremendousest 
rockdollagers  and  underkeeling  sidewipes  that  you 
ever  seed — and  they  took  'em  like  greedy  gluttons — I 
tell  ye,  Bill  run  at  him  to  butt  like  a  ram  ;  but  Charlev 


THE    RESCUE.  183 

was  too  quick  for  him,  and  as  he  passed,  gin  him  sich 
a  kick  as  sent  him  clean  into  the  river.  But  he  was 
out  agin  in  no  time,  like  a  water-rat,  and  rushed  at 
Charley  to  seize  him  ;  but  Charley  give  him  sich  an 
ear-opener  on  the  side  of  his  head,  that  it  stretched 
him  on  the  sand.  Charley  didn't  jump  on  him,  as  he 
had  a  right  to  do,  but  waited  twell  he  got  up.  Bill 
found  it  was  no  go,  that  Charley  was  too  much  for 
him  ;  and  as  he  riz,  he  cried,  '  'Nough — enough.'  Char- 
ley gin  him  his  paw,  and  said  to  him,  '  Well,  Bill,  it 
ain't  your  fault,  I  b'leve,  but  you  was  gettin'  above 
your  business,  too,  when  you  undertook  to  lick  me.' 
'  Come,  no  jawing,  boys.  It's  all  over  ;  be  friends  now. 
The  matter's  settled,'  said  I ;  '  let's  go  and  find  a  bar 
or  a  buck.'  So  off  we  went,  and  them  boys  has  been 
the  best  friends  ever  since.  Bill  says  Charley's  a 
man  every  inch  of  him,  though  he  wouldn't  marry 
Joanna  for  fightin'  nor  nothin'  else." 

It  was  now  late  in  the  night.  All  the  party  had 
been  smoking  for  the  last  half  hour  except  William 
Henry  and  Charley.  The  fire  was  replenished  at  the 
mouth  of  the  wigwam,  and  they  were  soon  asleep. 
By  the  dawn  of  day  they  were  up.  Uncle  Tom  had 
already  kindled  up  the  fire,  and  was  sitting  by  it 
smoking  his  pipe. 

"  Do  you  never  sleep,  my  old  weazel  ?"  said  Char- 
ley to  him.  "  We  left  you  settin'  there  last  night,  and 
thore  you  are  yet." 

"  Niggers  don't  sleep  like  white  folks,"  replied  Un- 
cle Tom.  "  Dey  sets  up  late,  an'  den  sleeps  by 
pieces  till  just  open  day,  when  dey  sure  to  wake  up. 
One  nigger  can  sleep  more  in  half  an  hour  clan  two 
white  men  kin  in  de  whole  night.  I  bin  lyin'  down 
twell  I  got  tired,  an'  den  I  sleep  some  settin'  up  here 
by  de  fire." 

William  Henry  proposed  a  walk  to  the  pigeon-roost 
as  they  already  heard  the  birds  moving  off  like  the 
squadrons  of  an  army.  Charley  Vandal  walked  with 
him.  The  rest  remained  at  the  camp,  preparing  foi 
their  return  home. 


184  NEW  HOPE;  OB, 

When  the  outskirts  of  the  roost  were  reached,  what 
a  contrast  the  scene  presented  with  that  of  the  prece- 
ding evening !  Not  a  pigeon  was  to  be  seen  on  the 
trees  ;  the  naked,  swagging,  and  broken  boughs  were 
motionless.  Not  a  sound  was  to  be  heard  but  the  flut- 
terings  of  a  solitary  wounded  bird  on  the  ground,  which 
was  strewed  with  the  wreck  of  limbs,  and  branches, 
and  twigs.  Feathers  and  dead  birds,  and  the  mangled 
remains  of  others,  on  which  the  carnivorous  animals 
of  the  woods  had  been  feasting,  were  scattered  around. 
It  made  the  heart  sick  to  look  upon  the  desolate  scene, 
and  the  young  men  hastened  back  to  camp. 

The  breakfast  and  the  packing  up  were  soon  over, 
and  the  party  moved  off.  At  the  mouth  of  Coal,  Nat 
Colly,  Sam  Dyer,  and  Charley  parted  with  the  rest  of 
the  party,  intending  to  go  up  that  stream,  and  cross 
over  into  the  Loop,  higher  up.  Ben  Bramble,  William 
Henry,  and  Uncle  Tom  crossed  Coal  at  the  mouth,  and 
passed  on  up  the  Kanawha  to  the  Mouth  of  Elk.  Here 
they  stopped  near  the  old  fort  till  the  next  morning,  and 
then  continued  their  journey  up  the  river  to  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger's. 



CHAPTER  XXI. 

AND  now  the  infant  Spring  had  just  waked  up, 
cradled  in  the  Valley  of  the  Great  Kanawha. 
Downy  buds,  glossy  green  leaves,  and  flowers  of 
lily  white  and  rosy  hue  surrounded  the  bright-eyed, 
smiling  child,  and  the  pure  sparkling  waters  of  that 
beautiful  river  were  the  mirror  at  her  feet,  reflect- 
ing the  smiles  of  Nature  and  her  own.  The  blue- 
bird on  the  branches  above,  and  the  silver-sided 
fishes  in  the  waters  below,  were  moving  in  glad- 
ness, and  the  song  of  the  bird  was  in  unison  with 
the  merry  tinkling  of  the  tiny,  rippling  waves,  as 


THE    RESCUE.  185 

they  kissed  the  polished  pebbles  on  the  margin  of 
the  stream.  Ninety  miles  of  verdure,  and  bloom, 
and  beauty,  reclining  in  lonely  loveliness  beneath 
bleak  rocks  and  frowning  cliffs,  still  circled  in 
the  cold  arms  of  Winter :  the  tall  trees,  with  their 
gray,  leafless  branches,  on  which  not  a  bud  had 
swelled,  shivering  and  sighing  in  the  chilly  mount- 
ain wind :  the  cold,  gray  rocks,  naked  and  bare, 
with  not  a  lichen  or  creeping  vine  to  clothe  or  cov- 
er them,  looking  down  with  unfeeling  indifference 
and  pitiless  insensibility  on  the  young,  hope-inspi- 
red, blushing  beauty,  reclining  in  loveliness  at  their 
feet. 

The  very  country  in  which  she  lived  was  a  most 
striking  emblem  of  Matilda  Wynne  Ballenger,  and 
the  world  around  her.  The  hopes  of  better  days — • 
the  secretly-cherished  image  of  him  whom  she  had 
forbidden  to  hope,  though  she  hoped  herself — her 
never-failing  confidence  in  the*  goodness  of  her 
Creator,  cheered  and  animated  the  heart  of  this 
lovely  girl,  and  spread  the  smiles  of  life's  sunny 
spring  over  her  beautiful  face  j  its  expression  was 
most  touching,  soul-subduing — the  sublime  of  in- 
nocent, intellectual  softness,  and  refined  sensibili- 
ty. That  expression,  though  found  in  creatures  ot 
earth,  is  not  earthly :  we  sometimes  see  it  in  the 
countenances  of  those  who,  believing  themselves 
well,  are  feeling  the  earliest  effects  of  that  fell,  in- 
sidious, flattering  disease,  for  which  there  is  no 
cure.  It  impresses  one  with  tenderness,  mingled 
with  something  of  reverential  awe,  as  if  we  were 
in  the  presence  of  some  being  of  a  purer,  holier 
kind  than  men.  With  poverty  and  distress  frown- 
ing on  her  and  her  father  and  brother — the  proba- 
bility that  they  would  soon  be  homeless — the  ten- 
derer ties  of  the  heart  to  be  severed  forever — sep- 
aration from  all  her  early  friends — deprived  of  al- 
most all  the  domestic  comforts,  to  which  we  are 
more  indebted  than  we  ever  imagine  till  we  are  de- 
prived of  them — and,  in  addition  to  all  this,  the  ob- 


186  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

ject  of  pursuit  to  a  man  whom  she  could  never  love 
— the  leafless,  wind-shaken  trees,  and  the  cold,  high 
rocks  that  overhung  that  lovely  valley,  frowned  not 
more  sternly  than  the  adverse  circumstances  in 
which  Matilda  was  placed. 

Mr.  Forster  was  now  often  at  New  Hope,  and 
his  ostensible  object  was  most  manifest,  although, 
as  yet,  he  had  made  no  direct  declaration  of  love 
to  Miss  Ballenger.  On  his  last  visit,  he  brought 
with  him  a  led  horse,  telling  Thomas  to  carry  it  to 
the  stable,  as  it  now  belonged  to  his  master.  Al- 
though the  rent  for  the  lands  now  owned  by  Mr. 
Ballenger  would  not  be  due  till  the  fall,  Isaac 
thought  proper  to  tender  it  now.  He  stated  to 
Mr.  Ballenger  that  he  had  seen  with  great  pain  the 
loss  of  his  carriage  horses,  and  hoped  that  his  pay- 
ment of  the  horse  for  rent  at  this  time  might  in 
some  degree  diminish  the  inconvenience  arising 
from  that  circumstance. 

Mr.  Ballenger  thanked  him,  but  observed,  "Your 
rent,  Mr.  Forster,  is  a  forty-dollar  horse,  and  this 
which  you  tender  me  is  worth,  I  should  think, 
much  more." 

"  Horses  have  fallen,  sir,"  said  Isaac  ;  "  and  be- 
sides, in  a  transaction  of  this  kind,  it  is  safer  for 
one  who  wishes  to  act  with  conscientious  justice 
to  be,  if  anything,  rather  over  than  under  the  mark. 
I  shall  be  well  satisfied  to  cancel  the  claim  with 
this  horse,  if  you  will  take  him  at  forty  dollars." 

"  This,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  is  not  only  just, 
but  generous,  and  I  will  take  him,  Mr.  Forster." 

The  horse  was  certainly  very  cheap  at  that  val- 
uation. 

"  He  works  well,"  said  Isaac.  "  I  have  taken 
care  to  have  him  well  broken  to  gear." 

"I  am  really  much  obliged  to  you,  sir,  as  he  will 
have  to  go  into  the  plough  immediately." 

Isaac  then  departed.  This  payment  of  his  rent 
Defore  it  was  due,  in  property  of  more  value  than 
was  in  the  bond,  made  a  very  favourable  impres 


THE    RESCUE.  187 

sion,  not  only  on  Mr.  Ballenger,  but  on  William 
Henry  and  Matilda.  They  all  agreed  that  it  was 
kind,  considerate,  and  generous. 

Soon  after  this  transaction,  Mr.  Ballenger  receiv 
ed  the  following  letter  from  Mr.  Forster : 

"Kanawha,  April  15th,  »99 
"EDWARD  BALLENGER,  ESQ., 
"  Sir — Herewith  I  have  enclosed  to  you  all  the 
deeds,  patents,  and  other  papers  which  had  come 
into  my  possession  as  the  agent  and  attorney  of 
Messrs.  Smith,  Bird,  Buchanan,  and  Alexander,  re- 
lating to  the  lands  conveyed  to  you  by  them.  I 
owe  you  an  apology  for  not  having  put  you  in  pos- 
session of  these  documents  at  an  earlier  period. 
But  you  will  pardon  me,  when  I  assure  you  that 
the  delay  has  arisen  from  no  want  of  attention  to 
your  interest  in  these  lands.  There  were  several 
unsettled  and  conflicting  claims,  disputed  corners 
and  lines,  and  many  of  these  papers  were  necessa- 
ry as  evidence  of  your  rights.  I  am  now  happy  to 
inform  you,  sir,  that  all  these  have  been  determined 
in  your  favour,  and  in  the  most  satisfactory  man- 
ner. Your  rights  in  all  these  lands  are  now  se- 
cure ;  and  permit  me  to  add,  that  it  would  give  me 
additional  pleasure  if  I  could  also  say  that  the  lands 
themselves  were  valuable.  Should  you  have  come 
to  any  determination  on  the  written  proposals 
which  I  made  to  you  in  relation  to  the  agency  and 
renting  of  them,  I  should  be  happy  to  hear  from 
you  at  this  time,  as  I  am  the  agent  of  several  gen- 
tlemen whose  lands  are  in  such  parts  of  the  coun- 
try, that  much  labour  and  expense  would  be  saved 
to  me  in  making  a  single  trip  this  spring  instead  of 
two.  1  have  also  a  proposition  to  make  you,  which, 
I  hope,  will  prove  agreeable  and  advantageous  to 
you,  while  its  acceptance  will  confer  a  favour  on 
me.  By  referring  to  your  patent  or  deed  for  the 
land  on  which  you  live,  you  will  find  an  offset  of 
fifty  acres  of  poor,  hilly'  land,  but  well  timbered, 


188  KETV   HOPE  :    OR, 

which  adjoins  the  upper  end  of  the  land  purchased 
by  me  of  Hockley.  It  would  square  out  my  land, 
and  bring  yours  into  better  form,  if  taken  off.  I 
offer  to  buy  it,  subject,  of  course,  to  Hockley's 
claim,  which  I  can  quiet  to  that  slip;  and  I  offer 
you  one  dollar  an  acre  for  your  right  in  it,  to  be 
paid  in  cash.  Should  you  accept  this  offer,  please 
inform  me  by  the  bearer,  and  I  will  prepare  a  deed, 
which  can  be  executed  on  my  payment  of  the  mon- 
ey. Be  so  good  as  to  send  a  receipt  for  the  pa- 
pers enclosed,  marked  and  numbered  as  per  mar- 
gin, and  believe  me,  dear  sir,  with  the  highest  con- 
sideration and  respect, 

"  Your  obedient  friend  and  servant, 

" ISAAC  FORSTER." 

Mr.  Ballenger  was  much  pleased  at  the  reception 
of  this  letter,  and  the  papers  enclosed  in  the  large 
package  accompanying  it.  Although  he  had  de- 
termined not  to  make  Isaac  his  agent,  or  to  rent 
the  lands  to  him  till  he  had  seen  them,  or,  at  least, 
learned  something  more  of  their  value — for,  in  his 
misfortunes,  he  still  clung  to  the  hope  that  some 
small  portion  of  them  might  be  worth  something 
more  than  Isaac  appeared  to  think — yet  this  deter- 
mination was  shaken  by  this  letter.  For  the  pres- 
ent, however,  he  resolved  only  to  accept  Isaac's 
offer  to  purchase  the  offset  of  fifty  acres,  a  part  of 
the  New  Hope  tract.  The  offer  pleased  and  sur- 
prised him.  It  was  a  miserable  slip  of  steep  hills, 
rocky  and  poor,  of  absolutely  no  value  whatever. 
He  could  not  help  thinking  this  offer  to  buy  it,  of 
a  piece  with  the  tender  of  the  forty-dollar  horse 
for  the  rent,  a  delicate  and  generous  mode  of  sup- 
plying his  necessities  without  wounding  his  feel- 
ings, or  imposing  any  obligation  upon  him.  He 
sent  Isaac  a  receipt  for  the  papers,  his  thanks  for 
the  interest  manifested  in  his  welfare,  declined  for 
the  present  the  agency  and  renting,  but  accepted 
his  offer  to  buy  the  fifty-acre  offset  of  the  New 


JTI1E    RESCUE.  189 

Hop*  land.  The  price  offered  by  Isaac  surprised 
him.  Half  a  dollar  an  acre  was  at  that  time  the 
price  or  much  better  hill  land  than  this.  Indeed, 
much  of  such  land  could  not  be  sold  at  any  price. 
He  concluded,  however,  that  Isaac  knew  what  he 
was  about  ^  which  was  true)  in  making  this  offer  of 
one  dollar  an  acre,  if,  indeed,  he  was  not  prompt- 
ed by  sheer  generosity.  Whether  there  was  any 
generosity  in  it,  the  sequel  will  show. 

A  few  days  afterward,  Isaac  came  to  New  Hope, 
bringing  with  him  a  deed  ready  written  for  the  fif- 
ty acres  of  land.  This  deed  Mr.  Ballenger  signed 
and  affixed  his  seal  to,  and  delivered  it  to  Isaac 
in  the  presence  of  three  witnesses,  who  accompa- 
nied Isaac  for  that  purpose.  These  persons  were 
not  apprized  of  the  purport  of  the  deed  or  its  con- 
tents, but  they  saw  Mr.  Ballenger  sign,  seal,  and 
deliver  it  as  his  act  and  deed.  Isaac  then  request- 
ed Mr.  Ballenger  to  retire  with  him  into  another 
room,  when  he  paid  him  the  fifty  dollars,  and  took 
his  receipt  for  the  same. 

On  the  night  after  these  transactions,  Richard 
Winter,  alias  Joe  Swinton,  made  his  appearance  at 
Isaac  Forster's  house. 

"  When,"  inquired  Forster  of  him,  "  will  you  be 
ready  for  the  boys  to  set  out  1" 

"I  am  ready  now,"  answered  Joe.  "But  hon- 
est Uriah  Blixon  won't  be  fixed  till  Monday  next; 
his  clothes  and  wig  are  right,  but  then  there  are 
several  other  little  matters  which  have  to  be  ad- 
justed and  arranged." 

"He  must  travel  in  the  night  for  the  first  fifty  or 
sixty  miles,"  said  Isaac,  "and  he  will  not  find  the 
right  sort  of  stock  to  purchase  till  he  gets  over 
into  Greenbrier,  or  beyond.  Stretch-blanket  and 
the  boys  must  not  travel  with  him.  The  boys  may 
who  are  his  drovers.  Jimmy,  though,  must  be  an 
utter  stvanpcr.  Caution  Uriah,  after  he  buys  and 
sells,  to  ride  like  hell  in  the  night  till  he  gets 
home." 


190  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"He  needs  no  caution,"  said  Joe;  "the  devil 
would  hardly  know  him  for  his  own,  if  he  was  to 
meet  him  in  his  new  toggery  ;  and  as  for  catching 
him,  or  holding  him  if  he  was  caught,  no  man  in 
America  can  do  the  one,  or  jail  the  other;  he's  a 
perfect  bundle  of  invisible,  unsearchable  tools  and 
chemicals.  He  can  carry  in  his  nose  or  mouth,  or 
even  under  his  toe-nails,  I  believe,  the  means  of 
getting  out  of  the  strongest  sort  of  a  box,  or  into 
one  either.  But  he's  too  respectable  a  looking 
gentleman,  with  too  many  good  letters  and  papers, 
and  good  money  about  him,  to  get  into  any  scrape 
till  the  thing's  done ;  and  then  I'll  bet  fifty  pounds 
that  the  very  man  he's  passed  the  pewter  on 
wouldn't  know  him  half  an  hour  afterward,  or  his 
horse  either." 

"He'd  better  not  risk  it,"  said  Isaac. 

"Not  he,"  said  Joe.  "He'll  move  like  a  streak 
of  lightning  till  he's  housed.  You'd  not  know  him, 
Mr.  Forster,  if  you  were  to  see  the  fat,  respectable 
old  gentleman,  with  his  silver  locks  and  gray  eye- 
brows, and  prominent  old  English  paunch,  and  rud- 
dy, honest  face.  He's  no  more  like  the  lean,  black- 
haired,  pale  young  devil,  Uriah  Blixon,  than  a  fat 
China  hog's  like  a  starved  weasel.  You'd  laugh  to 
look  at  him,  if  you  ever  do  laugh,  Mr.  Forster.  But 
here  are  your  chemicals :  I've  brought  them  with 
me." 

"Will  they  take  out  ink  stains'?"  said  Mr.  For- 
ster. 

"Yes,"  said  Joe,  "and  leave  the  paper  as  clean 
and  fair  as  when  it  came  out  of  the  paper-mill." 

"I  am  much  obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Winter,"  said 
Isaac.  "  It  will  save  me  a  great  deal  of  labour  in 
copying.  I  do  hate  to  have  to  write  whole  sheets 
over  again  on  account  of  a  blot,  or  wrong  word,  or 
interlineation,  none  of  which  should  ever  appear  in 
important  documents  or  recorded  papers." 

Joe  looked  at  Isaac  as  if  he  would  look  through 
him  (and,  indeed,  he  did  see  through  him),  and  said 


THE    RESCUE.  191 

"Forster,  what  the  devil  is  the  use  of  this  Tom — 
foolery  with  me  1  Do  you  think  I  don't  know  you — 
can't  see  through  this  shallow  pretence  I  Damn  it, 
man,  learn  to  speak  the  truth  sometimes  before 
friends  ;  it  may,  at  some  time  or  other,  be  neces 
sary.  You  want  these  chemicals  for  more  valua- 
ble purposes  than  to  take  out  blots ;  you'll  put  in 
more  than  you'll  take  out ;  and  that's  not  your  com- 
mon practice  in  money  matters.  To  your  other 
profitable  accomplishments,  Mr.  Forster,  you  mean, 
in  plain  English,  to  add  the  art  of  forgery." 

"  That's  easier  said  than  proved,"  said  Isaac. 

"  Yes  it  is,"  replied  Joe,  "  and  you  mean  to  keep 
it  so  as  long  as  hypocrisy  and  the  devil  can  help 
you." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Forster,  "  this  rambling  sort 
of  conversation  is  not  profitable  or  instructive,  how- 
ever amusing  and  pleasant  it  may  be.  Show  us 
how  the  thing  is  done  with  them.  Here's  a  piece 
of  paper  with  blots  on  it.  Let  me  see  you  remove 
them." 

Joe  showed  Isaac  how  to  use  the  chemicals,  and 
after  taking  several  stiff  drinks  of  grog,  departed, 
saying  that  Uriah  Blixon  would  see  him  on  Sunday 
night  after  11  o'clock,  and  be  off  the  next  morning 
to  the  eastward  for  Greenbrier  or  a  market. 

"I  shall  have  to  blind  that  fellow's  eyes  and  stop 
his  impudent  tongue,"  said  Isaac  to  himself,  after 
the  departure  of  Joe  Svvinton.  "  I'll  make  Polly 
M'Cloud  jealous  of  him,  or  send  some  younger,  so- 
berer sweetheart  to  that  attractive  old  lady,  and 
she'll  rid  me  of  him  at  short  warning.  He  is,  how- 
ever, useful  at  present — the  best  worker  in  white 
metal  that  this  country  affords — content  to  live  in 
retirement — that's  a  great  thing.  I  shall,  however, 
take  care  to  know  if  he  speaks  as  freely  to  others 
as  he  does  to  me  ;  and  if  he  does — Well,  I'll  try 
his  chemicals;  they  cannot  blab.  Forgery — he 
seems  to  think  there's  merit  in  exposing  what  one 
knows  or  can  do  to  the  world,  the  fool.  He  thinks 


192  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

he  knows  the  world.  He's  an  artist  in  metals,  to  be 
sure,  and  a  chemist,  a  good  chemist,  and  that's  all. 
Fools  confess  their  foibles,  and  are  despised ;  wise 
men  conceal  and  profit  by  theirs." 

Thus  soliloquizing,  Isaac  took  from  his  desk  the 
deed  from  Mr.  Ballenger  to  himself  for  the  fifty  acres 
of  land,  applied  the  chemicals  to  the  whole,  except  the 
signatures  of  the  witnesses  and  Mr.  Ballenger,  and  the 
seal  of  the  latter.  The  paper  was  cleared  of  every 
vestige  of  the  writing,  and  then  thoroughly  dried. 
Knowing  that  Mr.  Ballenger  was  in  delicate  health, 
Isaac  then  proceeded  to  write  above  the  signatures,  in 
proper  legal  form,  The  last  will  and  testament  of  Ed- 
ward Ballenger,  kindly  inserting  his  own  name  as  ex- 
ecutor, and  leaving  the  date  blank,  to  be  filled  up  at 
the  proper  time,  so  as  to  make  this  certainly  posterior 
in  time  to  any  other  which  might  be  found  or  made ; 
and  he  took  a  small  vial  of  the  same  ink,  carefully 
sealed  the  cork  to  prevent  evaporation,  and  deposited 
them  in  a  concealed  drawer  of  his  desk,  saying,  "  He 
may  die  now  as  soon  as  he  pleases.  I  don't  think  he 
will  live  this  year  out.  But  I  would  rather  his  daugh- 
ter should  make  me  a  happy  man.  He  could  die  after 
that  as  well  as  before.  I  don't  think  she  will  refuse 
me  ;  she  is  a  lady  of  too  much  sense  and  judgment  for 
that.  I  will  not  summon  her  to  surrender,  though,  till 
my  lines  are  completed.  An  able  general,  I've  read 
somewhere,  never  summons  a  besieged  fortress  till  he's 
prepared  to  storm  it  or  starve  it  out ;  and  a  man's  a 
fool  to  pop  the  question  to  a  lady  till  he  has  reason  to 
believe  that  his  attentions  have  made  a  favourable  im- 
pression, and  that  she  is  ready  to  hoist  the  white  flag 
when  summoned  to  surrender."  So  saying,  Isaac  took 
up  his  flute,  and  played 

"  A  lass  is  good  and  a  glass  is  good, 
And  a  pipe  to  smoke  in  cold  weather,"  &c. ; 

and  when  he  had  finished  the  tune,  he  took  a  drink 
of  grog,  smoked  his  pipe,  and  went  to  bed  and  to  sleep. 
There  was  no  man  west  of  the  Alleghany  Mount- 
ains who  bore  a  better  character  as  an  upright,  honest, 


THE    RESCUE.  193 

active,  enterprising  man  of  business,  than  Isaac  For- 
ster.  His  word  was  as  good  as  his  bond,  or  as  any 
man's  bond.  Punctual,  particular,  and  accurate  in  his 
transactions,  and  often  seemingly  very  liberal,  he  was 
respected  and  trusted  by  gentlemen  in  the  East,  and 
consulted  as  a  safe  counsellor  in  all  matters  relating  to 
land-business.  His  opinion  was  sought  after  inces- 
santly in  relation  to  the  value  of  lands,  surveys,  cor- 
ners, courses,  and  distances.  His  mere  say  so  was 
authority.  He  prevented  very  many  lawsuits,  settled 
many  conflicting  claims,  and  adjusted,  by  a  word,  dif- 
ficulties involving  large  interests.  He  paid  taxes  for 
hundreds,  and  redeemed  those  lands  that  had  been  sold 
or  forfeited  for  non-payment.  He  gained  golden  opin- 
ions, and  pieces  of  gold  ;  satisfied.all  whom  he  over- 
reached, pleased  those  whom  he  reduced  to  poverty, 
and  was  praised  by  those  whom  he  cheated  and  de- 
spised. All  the  apparent  good  that  he  affected,  and 
much  more  that  he  never  did,  was  attributed  to  him, 
and  he  received  credit  for  it.  All  the  evil  of  which  he 
was  the  real,  but  unseen,  unsuspected  cause,  was  con- 
sidered as  the  inevitable  consequence  of  uncontrollable 
contingencies,  or  was  fastened  on  somebody  else.  He 
was  a  most  consummate  adept  in  the  arts  of  imposi- 
tion, and  of  using  others  to  carry  out  his  purposes. 

A  few  of  his  colaborators  and  creatures  (for  he  used 
many  good  men,  also,  who  were  entirely  unconscious 
of  it)  had  discovered  parts  of  his  character  which  he 
was  careless  of  concealing  when  he  had  their  lives  in 
his  hands.  Joe  Swinton  knew  him  best,  and  suspect- 
ed even  more  than  he  knew  ;  but  no  human  being  had 
fathomed  the  profundity  of  Isaac  Forster's  character. 
Yet  this  man,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  verily  believed 
himself  as  moral  as  other  men.  The  game  at  which 
ho  played  he  believed  to  be  played  by  all  other  men 
of  sense,  and  that  the  most  skilful  and  expert  were  en- 
titled to  the  stakes.  The  greatest  mortification  to 
which  he  could  have  been  subjected  would  have  been 
to  meet  with  and  be  defeated  by  a  more  adroit  play- 
er than  himself.  He  was  a  most  accurate  observer 


194  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

and  sagacious  interpreter  of  slight  signs,  and  of  mi- 
nute and  seemingly  insignificant,  and  even  casual  cir- 
cumstances ;  things  scarcely  observed,  or  regarded 
by  others  as  signifying  nothing,  were  to  him  unerring 
indications  of  consequences  often  remote,  and  to  all 
others  apparently  not  connected  with  them  in  the 
slightest  degree ;  yet  he  was  often  deceived  by  ap- 
pearances. There  were  many  things  which  he  ob- 
served which  he  could  not  rightly  interpret.  All  actions 
prompted  by  disinterested  benevolence — and,  to  the 
honour  of  human  nature,  there  are  many  such — were 
inexplicable  to  him.  He  could  attribute  them  to  no- 
thing but  folly,  yet  he  saw  them  performed  by  persons 
whom,  in  other  things,  he  knew  to  be  no  fools.  Such 
actions  were  to  him  an  enigma  whiarh  he  could  not 
solve  ;  and  this  perplexed  and  disturbed  him  ;  for,  un- 
less they  were  born  of  mere  folly,  he  apprehended 
that  those  who  performed  them  must  see  farther  and 
deeper  into  their  true  interests  than  he  did  into  his. 
They  certainly  did ;  but  he  could  not  comprehend 
that,  for  he  did  not  possess  the  data  necessary  to  the 
solution  of  the  problem.  How  should  he  ?  Nothing 
was  clearer  to  him  than  that  from  nothing  nothing 
could  proceed.  He  admitted  not  the  existence  of  hu 
man  virtue  as  a  principle  of  action ;  and  to  those  who 
deny  the  premises  nothing  can  be  proved.  He  felt 
that  there  was  no  such  thing;  and  he  was  a  convert 
to  the  homely  adage  that  seeing1  s  believing,  but  feel- 
ing's the  truth.  Those  who  search  for  truth  with- 
in themselves  only,  surely  cannot  wonder  at  Isaac's 
conclusion,  however  incorrect  it  may  seem  to  them. 
We  hope  they  may  be  able  to  arrive  at  a  very  differ- 
ent one. 

From  Mr.  Forster's  late  conduct  towards  her  father, 
"Matilda  Ballenger  believed  that,  whatever  might  be  his 
faults  or  foibles,  Isaac  Forster  was  a  generous,  liberal 
man.  What  virtue  except  courage  makes  so  favoura- 
ble an  impression  on  woman  as  liberal  generosity  ?  In 
this  case,  feeling  was  believing,  but  seeing  was  not 
the  truth.  How  often,  like  her,  we  feel  arid  believe 


THE    RESCUE.  195 

that  which  we  see  to  be  true,  when  it  is  utterly  false  ? 
It'  our  feeling  is  reliable  evidence  of  what  is  true  of 
ourselves,  it  is  not  of  what  we  see,  or  think  we  see, 
of  others  ;  and  this  is  the  mistake  into  which  good  as 
well  as  bad  men  fall  in  the  interpretation  of  actions. 
Tt  is  the  prime  cause  of  fatal  mistakes.  We  attribute' 
the  actions  of  others  to  our  feelings  instead  of  their 
own,  of  which  we  are  ignorant.  We  know  what  our 
motive  would  be  for  a  given  action,  and  attribute  the 
action,  when  performed  by  another,  to  that  motive. 
How  widely  different  may  have  been  the  motive  of  the 
actor  !  The  conclusions,  then,  which  we  draw  from 
conduct  as  to  the  characters  of  men,  are  only  indica- 
tions of  our  own.  We  draw  unfavourable  inferences  as 
to  the  feelings  of  those  who  ascribe  seemingly  good 
actions  to  bad  motives  ;  yet  these  inferences  are  not 
always  conclusive.  Persons  who  have  seen  much  of 
the  world  have  learned  not  to  look  at  the  action  as  the 
index  of  the  motive.  What  a  severe  and  just  reflec- 
tion on  our  fallen  nature!  Even  children  who  have 
been  deceived,  or  have  seen  double-dealing  and  deceit, 
become  suspicious,  and  their  own  character  soon  re- 
flects the  images  that  have  been  made  on  the  mirror  of 
their  minds.  Let  teachers  and  parents  take  the  hint. 
It  is  better  for  us  to  be  the  unsuspecting  subjects  of  all 
sorts  of  imposition  than  to  practise  them  on  others,  or 
even  to  have  the  small  remaining  speck  of  purity  with- 
in us  dimmed,  and  sullied,  and  defaced,  if  not  oblitera- 
ted and  destroyed,  by  the  reflective  action  of  the  vices 
of  others. 

Isaac  Forster  acted  from  the  best  motives  living  in 
his  heart.  Do  we  act  from  the  best  existing  in  ours7 
The  powerful,  all-pervading,  but  miscalculating  love 
of  self,  was  the  monarch  of  his  soul.  His  actions 
were  only  faithful  acts  of  allegiance  to  their  lord  and 
master.  Let  us  not  blame  his,  unless  our  own  are  at 
least  as  loyal  to  the  power  that  sits  on  the  throne  of 
our  hearts.  What  right,  then,  it  may  he  asked,  have 
we  to  blame  or  punish  the  wicked  ?  The  very  best ; 
for  it  is  the  highest  duty  of  every  man  to  dethrone  the 


196  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

despotic  demon  sin,  that  rules  within.  We  know  and 
feel  that  he  is  a. usurper  there,  and  we  have  the  author- 
ity of  God  himself  for  believing  that,  if  we  rebel  against 
him,  he  shall  not  have  dominion  there.  Help  from  on 
high  will  aid  us  to  expel  the  tyrant. 

About  four  o'clock  on  the  Sunday  morning  after  Joe 
Swinton's  last  visit  to  Isaac  Forster,  the  latter  gentle- 
man was  walking  in  his  front  yard,  examining  its  en- 
closure of  very  neat  palings  lately  put  up,  for  which  he 
had  to  pay,  if  it  was  done  according  to  contract.  He 
found  several  deviations  and  departures  from  faithful 
execution,  which,  in  all  mechanical  operations  done 
and  paid  for  by  the  job,  are  apt  to  escape  the  best  work- 
men. I  suppose  they  are  generally  in  a  hurry  them- 
selves, or  are  hurried  by  their  employers,  and  this  may 
account  for  it.  Mr.  Forster,  however,  determined  to 
pay  full  price  after  pointing  out  these  lapses  of  the 
chisel  and  plane  to  the  con:ractor  and  executor  of  the 
work  and  his  two  apprentices.  They  had  been  the 
signing  witnesses  of  many  recorded  documents  in 
which  Isaac  was  interested,  and  they  had  been  the 
witnesses  to  the  deed  made  by  Mr.  Ballenger  to  Isaac 
for  the  fifty  acres  of  land,  which  deed  was  never  offer- 
ed for  record  or  recorded.  The  use  which  was  made 
of  that  paper,  or,  rather,  the  abuse,  has  been  mentioned. 
The  signatures  of  the  carpenter  and  his  apprentices 
were  well  known  to  the  clerk  of  the  court,  and  to  many 
of  the  citizens  of  the  county. 

In  conversations  with  these  men,  Isaac  took  occasion 
to  mention  that  the  bill  for  the  paling  was  very  cheap ; 
that  the  prices  for  carpenters  work  in  the  State  of 
New-York,  and  especially  around  Lake  Seneca,  were 
more  than  the  double  of  those  charged  by  them.  The 
carpenter  expressed  a  desire  to  go  where  his  depart- 
ment of  labour  was  so  well  rewarded.  Isaac  told  him 
he  had  property  there,  and  if  he  chose  to  remove  and 
settle  in  that  state,  he  would  give  him.  rent  free  for  sev- 
eral years,  a  little  homestead  of  thirty  acres  near  the 
lake,  on  condition  that  he  would  clear  up  one  acre 
every  year  and  bring  it  into  cultivation.  He  added, 


THE    RESCUE.  197 

also,  that  he  would  give  him  a  building  job  on  that  land 
worth  a  thousand  dollars,  to  be  completed  in  the  next 
two  years.  The  carpenter  gladly  availed  himself  of 
this  information  and  these  generous  offers,  and  the 
money  paid  him  for  the  palings  conveyed  him  and  his 
apprentices  to  New-York,  where  he  prospered  and 
grew  rich  through  the  judicious  advice  and  disinterest- 
ed patronage,  as  he  always  believed,  of  his  excellent 
friend  Forster.  But  this  is  a  digression. 

Isaac  was  walking  in  his  yard,  looking  at  the  palings, 
as  we  have  said,  when  a  gentleman,  evidently  a  trav- 
eller, in  passing  the  gate,  stopped  and  inquired  the  way 
to  Mr.  Edward  Ballenger's.  Mr.  Forster  directed  him 
by  saying, 

"  You  have  passed  his  house  six  miles  higher  up  the 
river,  if  you  came  the  road  from  the  falls." 

"  Indeed !"  said  the  stranger ;  "  that  is  the  road  I 
have  travelled  all  the  way  from  Alexandria  on  the  Po- 
tornac,  in  Old  Virginia." 

"  Alight  and  rest  yourself,  sir,"  said  Isaac,  "  and  I 
will  have  the  pleasure  of  showing  you  the  way  to  Mr. 
Ballenger's,  as  I  shall  visit  him  this  evening." 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  the  stranger ;  "  then  I  will 
avail  myself  of  your  kind  offer." 

He  alighted,  and  walking  up  to  Isaac,  said, 

"  My  name,  sir,  is  George  Baxter,  and  I  am  glad  to 
have  met  with  a  friend  of  Ned  Ballenger's.  I  hope  he 
and  his  amiable  children  are  well." 

"  His  children  are,"  said  Isaac,  "  or  were  a  few  days 
ago ;  but  I  am  pained  to  tell  you,  sir,  that  excellent 
gentleman  himself  does  not  enjoy  good  health.  1  am 
apprehensive,  indeed,  that  he  is  going  into  a  decline. 
I  iVar  his  altered  circumstances  prey  upon  his  mind, 
which,  you  know,  wears  out  the  body." 

"  True,"  said  Mr.  Baxter  ;  "  but  Ned  is  not  so  badly 
off  as  people  suppose — much  better  off,  sir,  than  he  at 
present  thinks." 

Isaac  eyed  Mr.  Baxter  most  keenly.  He  had  de- 
termined, so  soon  as  he  heard  him  inquire  for  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger,  to  ascertain,  if  possible,  the  object  of  his  visit 


JOS  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

to  him — who  and  what  he  was  ;  but  his  last  words  had 
excited  the  deepest  interest.  Could  Air.  Baxter  refer 
to  Mr.  Ballenger's  lands,  the  value  of  which  had  been 
so  carefully  concealed  1  Could  this  man  have  become 
acquainted  with  their  value  ?  Did  he  want  to  buy  any 
of  them  ?  Or  had  some  lucky  windfall  happened  to 
Mr.  Ballenger  1  Isaac  resolved  to  probe  this  matter  to 
the  bottom.  They  walked  into  the  house,  and  Mr. 
Forster  took  out  a  decanter,  a  bottle,  two  tumblers,  and 
two  wine-glasses,  and  requested  Mr.  Baxter  to  join  him 
in  taking  a  drink  of  brandy  and  water  or  a  glass  of  wine. 

"  Wine,  if  you  please,"  said  Mr.  Baxter.  "  It  is  our 
habit  in  the  Old  Dominion  to  take  wine  only  after  din- 
ner." 

"My  name,"  said  Isaac,  filling  the  glasses,  "  which 
I  must  apologize,  Mr.  Baxter,  for  not  mentioning  soon- 
er, is  Isaac  Forster.  Your  very  good  health,  sir,"  said 
he,  touching  glasses  and  emptying  his  own. 

"  I've  heard  of  you,  Mr.  Forster,  very  often,"  said 
Baxter,  "  and  you  are  the  very  man,  next  to  Ned  Bal- 
lenger, I  have  been  most  anxious  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  in  my  trip  to  this  country.  You  were  the 
agent,  I  think,  of  my  friend  Smith  and  Buchanan.  You, 
sir,  can  no  doubt  give  me  most  desirable  information." 

"  Any,  sir,  that  I  possess,  not  incompatible  with  the 
interests  of  those  whom  I  serve,  shall  be  at  your  ser- 
vice," said  Isaac. 

"  Thank  you,  sir,"  said  Baxter.  "  This  is  what 
every  gentleman  expects  from  the  known  character  of 
Mr.  Forster,  and,  permit  me  to  add,  sir,  receives  too,  I 
believe.  Your  very  good  health,  my  dear  sir,"  empty- 
ing the  heeltap  that  remained  in  his  glass.  Isaac  filled 
the  glasses  again. 

"  Suppose,  sir,"  said  Baxter,  "  you  order  your  horse. 
[  ride  slowly,  man  and  horse  being  somewhat  jaded  by 
my  long  journey  across  the  mountains." 

Isaac  stepped  to  the  door,  and  directed  his  horse  to 
be  brought  out. 

"  Another  glass  before  we  ride,"  said  he  to  Mr. 
Baxter. 


THE    RESCUE.  199 

Mr.  Baxter  took  the  wine-glass,  and  raising  it  to- 
wards his  lips,  and  fixing  his  eyes  full  upon  Isaac's, 
said,  in  an  entirely  altered  voice, 

"Mr.  Zac  Forster,  I  drink  to  your  better  discern- 
ment, by  G — d.  You  are  a  softer  chap  than  I  took 
you  for." 

He  tossed  off  the  wine  and  burst  into  a  fit  of  uncon- 
trollable laughter.  The  scales  in  an  instant  fell  from 
Forster's  eyes.  There  stood  before  him  Uriah  Blixon, 
one  of  his  own  agents  in  iniquity,  whom  he  had  seen 
a  hundred  times,  so  completely  disguised  that  he  did 
not  know  him. 


CHAPTER  XXIL 

**  YOU'LL  do,  Uriah — you'll  do,"  were  Isaac's  first 
words  on  recovering  from  his  surprise.  "  It  is  true, 
as  Joe  Swinton  said,  the  Devil  wouldn't  know  his 
own." 

"  He  didn't,  anyhow,  this  time,"  replied  Uriah. 

"  I  did  riot  expect  you  till  night,"  said  Isaac. 
"  Where's  the  needful  ?" 

"  It  will  be  here  in  time,"  replied  Uriah.  "  I  only 
thought  I'd  give  you  a  passing  call,  and  see  if  I'd  pass ; 
and  if  I  did,  to  get  a  glass  of  good  wine,  which  is 
rather  scarce  in  these  parts." 

"  Pass  !"  said  Forster  ;  "  if  other  things  that  I  could 
name  will  pass  as  well,  it  will  do  wonderfully." 

"  Never  doubt  it,"  said  Uriah.  "  Joe  Swinton  is  a 
first-rate  London  artist,  fully  equal  to  my  tailor,  paint- 
er, and  hair-dresser.  The  cclskins  only  want  the 
signature  of  Mr.  President  and  Cashier  Forster  to  be 
as  genteel  and  passable  bank-notes  as  your  humble 
servant  is  for  a  most  respectable  Virginia  gentleman  ; 
and  where  one  of  them  won't  pass,  why  nothing  will, 
you  know,  friend  Isaac.  I  wish  you  good-evening, 


200  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

sir,"  said  Uriah,  changing  his  voice  and  manner  to 
those  of  his  assumed  character  of  Mr.  George  Baxter. 
"  Health  and  happiness  attend  you,  sir.  Be  pleased 
to  present  me  kindly  to  my  friend  Ned  Ballenger,  and 
say  to  him  that  very  urgent  business  prevented  his  old 
friend  George  Baxter  from  giving  him  a  call  as  he 
was  making  this  passing  trip."  So  saying,  Uriah 
bowed  most  gracefully,  and  with  a  dignified  step 
marched  out  of  the  room,  mounted  his  horse,  and  rode 
away. 

"  What  a  consummately  impudent  scoundrel  is 
Uriah  Blixon — what  an  admirable  actor!"  said  Isaac, 
following  him  with  his  eyes  as  he  disappeared  in  the 
distance. 

Now,  although  Isaac  was  highly  pleased  at  the  per- 
fect disguise  of  this  man,  so  far  as  it  enabled  him  to 
deceive  others,  he  was  exceedingly  mortified  that  he 
had  been  deceived  himself.  He  was  unwilling  that 
this  power  should  be  possessed  by  any  man  in  any- 
thing. He  was  an  ambitious  and  vain  man,  and  did 
not  like  to  be  excelled.  A  sense  of  inferiority  was 
humiliating  to  him.  The  tannt  of  Uriah  stuck  in  his 
throat — "  so  soft  a  chap ;"  he  could  not  swallow  that. 
He  did  not  think  himself  a  soft  chap.  Who  does  ? 
As  for  his  being  called  the  devil,  or  likened  to  that 
personage,  he  considered  that  rather  a  compliment,  as 
many  dashing  gentlemen  do,  whose  pretensions  to  the 
character  of  his  satanic  majesty,  if  they  would  not 
even  make  the  devil  ashamed,  were  certainly  far  infe- 
rior to  those  of  Mr.  Forster.  We  doubt  if  he  had  ever 
read  Milton's  Paradise  Lost.  Some  men,  however, 
seem  to  have  an  innate  perception  and  admiration  of 
the  qualities  of  high  and  aspiring  characters,  and  Isaac 
might  be,  and  perhaps  was,  one  of  these. 

About  eleven  o'clock  at  night  the  highly-finished 
manufactures  of  Joe  Swinton  were  brought  to  Isaac 
Forster's.  Those  of  metal  were  complete ;  those  of 
which  paper  was  the  basis  wanted  the  signatures  of 
a  president,  cashier,  and  payee.  These,  Mr.  Forster 
said,  would  be  inserted  by  the  proper  persons,  using 


THE   RESCUE.  201 

the  plural,  we  suppose,  in  the  same  sense  that  editors 
•and  authors  of  humble  pretensions  like  myself  do.  It 
is  remarkable  that  Isaac  Forster  never  conversed  with 
more  than  one  of  the  counterfeiters  at  the  same  time, 
and  never  committed  himself  even  by  words  to  him ; 
much  less  did  he  perform  in  their  presence  any  act 
which  could  be  proved  to  his  injury.  Even  the  good 
money  which  he  supplied  to  consummate  their  frauds 
was  always  a  loan,  for  which  he  received  a  written 
obligation,  to  be  repaid  with  lawful  interest.  He  had 
no  fool:sh  notions  of  honour  and  confidence  among 
chevaliers  d?  Industrie.  Joe  Swinton  had.  He  had 
lived  among  more  civilized  and  polished  people  in  the 
city  of  London,  the  centre  of  chivalry.  Often  had  he 
known  one  rogue  to  risk  his  life  to  save  that  of  an- 
other ;  and  he  considered  the  trait  in  the  character  of 
Isaac,  mentioned  above,  as  mean,  cowardly,  and  con- 
temptible, and  he  despised  him  for  it.  Isaac  was  not 
the  only  man  who  has  been  despised  and  hated  for 
wisdom,  prudence,  and  precaution. 

On  Monday  morning,  before  daylight,  the  counter- 
feit money  was  all  delivered  to  Uriah  Biixon,  ready  for 
use,  and  James  Dixon,  on  the  Saturday  before,  had  re- 
ceived on  loan  three  thousand  dollars  in  good  money 
from  Isaac,  and  had  given  his  bond,  with  good  securi- 
ty, for  the  same.  Jimmy  was  going,  as  everybody 
knew,  to  purchase  a  drove  of  horses  to  carry  to  East- 
ern Virginia  for  sale.  The  saddlebags  of  Uriah  and 
those  of  Jirrrmy  were  so  exactly  alike  that  they  could 
not  be  distinguished,  each  pair  having,  on  the  most 
conspicuous  part,  a  large  gilded  leather  star,  remova- 
ble, it  seems,  at  pleasure.  In/ less  than  two  weeks 
after  these  transactions,  advertisements  were  stuck  up 
all  over  the  country  by  three  farmers  of  Greenbrier, 
offering  a  large  reward  for  a  man  calling  himself 
George  Baxter,  described  as  a  portly,  respectable- 
looking,  elderly  man,  riding  a  sorrel  horse  with  white 
legs  and  a  switch  tail,  who  had  purchased  of  them  two 
thousand  seven  hundred  dollars  worth  of  horses,  and 
paid  for  them  in  money,  all  of  which  they  had  after 
9 


202  NEW   HOPE  *,    OR, 

ward  ascertained  to  be  counterfeit ;  and  stating  that 
the  said  villain,  against  whom  the  public  were  caution- 
ed, had,  on  the  same'  day,  and  in  their  presence,  sold 
the  whole  lot  of  stock,  at  an  advance  of  ten  per  cent., 
to  Mi.  James  Dixon,  a  well-known  and  respectable 
horse-drover  of  Kanawha,  who  was  passing  through 
the  country  in  search  of  stock,  and  had,  unfortunately 
for  them,  arrived  after  they  had  sold  to  Baxter,  and 
who  purchased  of  him,  and  was  now  on  his  way  with 
the  horses  to  the  old  settlements.  On  the  most  dili- 
gent inquiry  (the  advertisements  stated),  they  had  not 
been  able  to  discover  whence  this  self-styled  George 
Baxter  had  come  or  whither  he  was  going.  They 
had  travelled  on  every  road  and  in  every  direction,  and 
could  gather  no  tidings  of  him  except  at  the  tavern  in 
their  immediate  neighbourhood,  where  he  stayed  all 
night  after  bargaining  for  their  stock,  and  before  he  re- 
ceived them.  He  paid  good  money  there,  and  did  not 
return  after  selling  to  Mr.  Dixon,  nor  has  he  been 
heard  of  since.  They  had  no  doubt  that  he  had  chan- 
ged his  clothes,  so  as  not  to  be  recognised  by  the  de- 
scription. He  was,  however,  certainly  an  elderly, 
portly  man,  of  good  appearance,  and  grayheaded,  ri- 
ding a  large  sorrel  horse  with  a  black  face,  white  legs, 
and  switch  tail. 

Which  of  these  men,  or  who  else,  could  have  recog- 
nised, even  if  he  had  seen  him  in  the  daytime  —  a 
thing  which  no  man  did  after  the  purchase  of  the  hor- 
ses— the  young-looking,  thin-faced,  slender  Uriah  Blix- 
on,  not  one  article  of  whose  clothing,  saddle,  bridle,  or 
horse,  corresponded  with  the  description  in  the  adver- 
tisement? His  horse  was  now  milk  white,  reached, 
and  bobbed.*  The  night  after  he  bought  the  horses 
and  sold  them,  he  rode  at  least  fifty  miles,  and  tho 
next,  before  day,  he  was  safely  housed,  and  would  not 
be  seen  in  public  for  several  months. 

Jimmy  Dixon  drove  this  stock  to  Richmond  and 

*  Had  it  not  been  for  the  fair  complexion  of  Uriah  Blixon,  we 
should  have  taken  him  for  a  gipsey-jockey  of  Andalusia,  in  Spain,  01 
one  of  the  Dar-bushifal  of  Barbary- — (See  Barrow's  Zincali.) 


THE    RESCUE.  203 

Alexandria,  and  sold  it  for  three  thousand  eight  hun- 
dred dollars;  and  as  he  had  to  account  only  for  three 
thousand,  he  made  a  handsome  profit  on  the  transac- 
tion, which  occupied  him  about  forty  days.  All  his 
tavern  bills  were  paid  in  good  money.  Not  the  slight- 
est suspicion  existed  that  there  was  any  collusion  be- 
tween him  and  the  swindling  counterfeiter  George 
Baxter,  who  was  nowhere  to  be  found  ;  indeed,  he 
had  disappeared  as  if  he  had  sunk  into  the  earth.  The 
report  soon  overtook  Jimmy  Dixon  that  Mr.  Baxter 
had  passed  counterfeit  money  on  the  Greenbrier  farm- 
ers. Jimmy  said  he  was  sorry  for  them,  but  what 
was  one  man's  loss  was  another  man's  gain.  On  his 
return  to  the  West,  he  called  on  these  farmers,  and 
heard  the  particulars  of  their  search  for  Baxter ;  learn- 
ed that  they  had  been  entirely  baffled  ;  abused  the  ras- 
cal terribly ;  promised  his  active  co-operation  in  the 
endeavour  still  making  to  discover  where  he  was,  and 
to  bring  him  to  justice  ;  insisted  on  adding  a  hundred 
dollars  to  the  reward  offered  for  his  apprehension,  and 
before  he  left  Greenbrier  cheated  one  of  them  out  of 
at  least  two  hundred  dollars  in  horse-trading,  besides 
gaining  the  reputation  of  being  a  keener  in  horse- 
swapping. 

Old  Hockley,  when  he  heard  of  these  horse-trades, 
laughed  outright,  and  asked  Jimmy,  when  he  saw  him, 
"  if  them  farmers  had  any  pole-evil  horses  for  sale  or 
barter  ?" 

"  No,  they  hadn't,"  replied  Jimmy,  "  but  they  got 
some  spavined  and  swinnied,  and  'twas  well  for  'em 
'twas  no  worse." 

"  Come  and  see  me,"  said  Hockley,  "  and  I'll  serve 
you  better  than  you  treated  yourself  the  last  time  we 
traded.  I've  got  some  now  that  are  sound  in  wind 
and  limb." 

"  Thank'ee  for  nothing,"  said  Jimmy  ;  "  them  I  got 
of  you  before  were  sound  in  wind  and  limb,  though 
one  died  two  days  after  I  got  him — " 

"  And  t'other,"  interposed  Hockley,  "  before  you 
tried  to  cheat  me  out  of  him  with  a  dead  horse — ha ! 
ha !  ha !  Jimmy,  you  are  a  caution  !" 


204  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

"  I'll  try  to  take  one,"  said  Jimmy.  "  I've  had  my 
dose  of  you,  friend  Hockley." 

"  And  the  physic  worked  well,"  said  Hockley ; 
"  don't  you  feel  the  better  of  it,  boy  ?" 

"  Yes,  I'm  cured  quite,"  replied  Jimmy  ;  "  but  I  don't 
like  paying  such  heavy  doctor's  bills.  The  Greenbrier 
doctors  ain't  as  high  learnt  as  you  are,  old  gentleman. 
You  got  your  sheepskin  in  Philadelphy,  I  guess." 

"  They'll  learn  if  they  practise  on  you,  Stretch- 
blanket." 

It  has  been  often  remarked,  that  men,  honest,  hon- 
ourable, and  veriloquent  in  everything  else,  will  cheat 
and  lie  in  horse-trading.  If  it  be  true,  it  is  a  curious 
phenomenon,  and  presents  a  question  in  ethics  to  the 
philosopher  well  worthy  of  investigation.  Certain  it 
is,  that  many  men,  seemingly  upright  in  all  other  mat- 
ters, will  take  advantage  of  ignorance  and  inexperi- 
ence in  horse-trading ;  and  it  does  not  seem  to  lessen 
them  in  their  own  opinion,  or  in  the  estimation  of  the 
public,  in  the  same  degree  as  cheating  in  other  trans- 
actions. Is  it  derived  from  Sparta?  The  boy  who, 
in  that  ancient  commonwealth,  stole  a  loaf  of  brown 
bread,  was  punished  if  detected  before  he  had  eaten  it, 
but  praised  and  applauded  if  he  had  either  eaten  it,  or 
disposed  of  it  before  the  trick  was  discovered,  and 
boasted  of  the  feat  like  a  modern  horse-jockey  when 
hs  has  cheated  a  greenhorn. 

When  Jimmy  called  on  Isaac  Forster  to  pay  off  his 
note  for  the  three  thousand  dollars,  the  latter  said, 

"  I  understand  that  young  Ballenger,  in  consequence 
of  his  father's  ill  health,  which  prevents  the  old  gentle- 
man from  riding  much,  is  about  to  examine  his  land 
in  the  Loop.  I  think  you  know,  Jimmy,  where  the 
land  lies  ?" 

"  Oh,  very  well — every  foot  of  it  that  a  man  can 
travel  over,"  said  Jimmy. 

Now  we  must  do  Jimmy  the  justice  to  say  that  he 
had  been  once  within  half  a  mile  of  the  land,  and  knew 
where  it  lay. 

"  This  young  spark,  I  have  reason  to  believe,  Jim- 


THE    RESCUE.  205 

my,  will  take  Squire  Templeman's  in  the  way  to  the 
land.  The  squire  has  a  pretty  daughter,  you  know." 
Jimmy's  face  changed  colour.  "1  wish,  Jimmy,  you'd 
throw  yourself  in  his  way  at  the  squire's,  and  offer  to 
show  him  the  land.  He  might  go  too  high  up  New 
River,  and  get  lost,  or  break  his  neck  over  the  cliffs." 

Jimmy  looked  hard  at  Isaac,  mused  a  moment,  and 
said, 

"  I  understand  you — the — " 

"  You  needn't  say  what,"  quickly  interposed  Isaac. 

"  Is  on  that  land.  I'll  do  it,  and  take  care  to  show 
him  everything  he  ought  to  see,  and  nothing  that  he 
oughtn't." 

"  That  stubborn,  ill-natured  old  fool,  Ben  Bramble, 
will  be  with  him,  and  he  knows  nothing  of  the  land,  or 
of  anything  else  beyond  the  gobbling  of  a  turkey  or  the 
bleating  of  a  deer,"  said  Isaac. 

"He  shall  find  me  at  Templeman's,"  said  Jimmy. 
"  I  have  business  with  the  squire." 

What  business  he  had  with  Squire  Templeman  we 
cannot  conceive ;  but  he  said  he  had  business  with 
him,  and  we  must  take  his  word  for  it,  as  we  must  for 
the  truth  of  the  tale  he  told  at  Richmond  about  the  cat- 
fish caught  at  the  Point  (Point  Pleasant,  at  the  mouth 
of  the  Kanawha).  "  The  fish,"  he  said,  "  had  a  little 
negro  boy  and  a  three-gallon  jug  of  whiskey  in  his 
stomach.  They  never  would  have  caught  him  if  the 
hook  he  swallowed  hadn't  hung  in  the  cork  of  the  jug, 
and  pulled  it  out.  The  fish  was  made  so  drunk  he 
couldn't  help  himself,  and  was  dragged  ashore.  He 
weighed  two  hundred  and  eighty  pounds  avoirdupois. 
I  saw  it,"  added  Stretch-blanket,  "  and  ate  a  part  of  him, 
which  was  very  near  making  me  drunk.  Indeed,  sev- 
eral others  that  ate  of  him  were  so  drunk  after  dinner 
that  they  couldn't  stand  up." 

Jimmy  told  this  story  to  a  man  fishing  at  the  falls  of 
James  River  when  he  saw  him  catch  a  bass  rock, 
weighing,  I  suppose,  twenty  or  thirty  pounds,  that  had 
another  fish  in  its  maw. 

"  Throw  him  back,  throw  him  back,"  said  Jimmy 


206  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

to  the  man.  "  It's  a  small  business,  that.  We  wouldn't 
take  such  a  minnow  as  that  out  of  the  water,  if  we  had 
hooked  him  on  the  Kanawha,  1  swear.  Did  you  ever," 
he  inquired  of  the  man  who  caught  the  rockh'sh,  "see 
a  buffalo  perch  ?" 

"  No,"  said  the  man,  "  but  I've  heard  of  them." 

"  Well,"  said  Jimmy,  "  I  leave  you  to  guess  what 
sized  fish  they  are  from  their  name — arid  a  buffalo 
sucker  is  a  leetle  bigger  yet." 

Isaac  Forster's  information  was  correct,  as  it  gener- 
ally was  in  relation  to  matters  in  which  he  was  inter- 
ested. Mr.  Ballenger's  health  was  not  improved  by 
the  approach  of  spring,  and  on  his  son  devolved  the 
duty  of  seeing  the  lands  belonging  to  his  father,  and 
of  making  a  report  on  their  situation  and  probable  val- 
ue. The  tract  of  4000  acres  in  the  Loop  was  the 
nearest  to  his  residence,  and  William  Henry  proposed 
to  visit  that  first.  We  think  it  probable  that  its  vicin- 
ity to  Squire  Templeman's  may  have  had  something  to 
do  with  his  desire  to  see  that  land  first.  Ben  Bram- 
ble had  promised  to  accompany  him.  His  father's  sit- 
uation, he  knew,  was  becoming  every  day  more  gloomy. 
His  little  stock  of  money  was  nearly  exhausted,  and 
his  credit,  as  he  was  a  new-comer,  if  he  had  any,  was 
limited,  even  if  he  had  been  disposed  to  resort  to  it. 
It  would  be  absolutely  necessary  to  sell  some  of  his 
lands  shortly  at  any  price,  if  they  could  be  sold.  Of 
this  he  was  doubtful,  from  their  reputed  character, 
when  there  was  so  much  unoccupied  land  in  the  West, 
of  better  quality,  offered  for  sale  or  settlement. 

Many  men  would  have  sunk  into  despondency,  or 
been  tempted  into  villany,  or  seduced  into  ruinous  vi- 
ces by  less  trying  circumstances  than  those  which  now 
surrounded  Mr.  Ballenger,  the  once  wealthy  but  now 
broken  merchant.  We  cannot  form  a  just  conception 
of  his  feelings  without  comparing  his  present  with  his 
former  condition,  his  present  prospects  with  his  previ- 
ous anticipations.  Often  would  he  look  upon  his  love- 
ly daughter  as  she  was  cheerfully  and  actively  employ- 
ed in  her  humble  and  necessary  domestic  avocations 


THE    RESCUE.  207 

so  different  from  those  to  which  she  had  been  accustom- 
ed ;  and  that  very  cheerfulness  and  apparent  uncon- 
sciousness of  her  forlorn  and  destitute  condition  would 
fill  his  heart  with  anguish.  His  own  feeble  health  did 
not  permit  those  active  exertions  which  brace  the  nerves, 
and  so  powerfully  counteract  the  sufferings  of  sensi- 
bility;  but  when  he  was  most  depressed,  and  wellnigh 
overwhelmed  by  the  tide  of  sorrowful  emotions  which 
rolled  in  upon  his  soul,  he  would  retire  to  his  chamber, 
and  seek  relief  in  prayer  to  Him  who  hath  said,  "  Come 
unto  me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest."  Never  did  he  seek  and  not  find, 
never  did  he  ask  and  not  receive.  Who  ever  did  ? 
We  may  not  find  what  we,  in  our  ignorance,  may  seek  j 
we  may  not  receive  what  our  importunity  may  ask ; 
but  He  who  knows  what  is  better  for  us  than  we  our- 
selves do,  never  turns  a  deaf  ear  to  the  earnest,  sin- 
cere, heartfelt,  believing  supplications  of  those  who  put 
their  tnst  in  Him. 

Mr.  Ballenger  was  sustained  and  supported ;  his 
heart  was  relieved  of  its  burden,  although  he  saw  no 
change  in  his  external  condition.  He  felt  relief,  like 
Abraham  of  old,  when  about  to  sacrifice  his  son.  Al- 
though he  could  not  see  how  the  promises  of  God 
could  be  fulfilled,  he  believed,  he  felt  that  they  certain- 
ly would  be.  The  evidence  of  things  not  seen  is  the 
support  of  Christians  in  all  the  trials  of  life.  Happy 
are  they  who  have  within  them  this  evidence.  Mr. 
Ballenger  had  it  in  his  heart ;  and  his  daughter,  too, 
that  beautiful  and  lovely  girl,  in  the  most  trying  scenes 
to  which  she  was  so  soon  to  be  exposed,  never  yielded 
to  doubt  or  despair.  When  her  father  sometimes  inad- 
vertently alluded  to  the  probability  of  his  death,  and  of 
leaving  her  and  his  son  destitute  in  a  land  of  strangers, 
although  the  tears  would  suffuse  her  eyes,  she  would 
say, 

"  Well,  my  father,  should  you  be  called  away  to 
your  rest,  does  not  the  inspired  Psalmist  say,  '  I  have 
been  young,  and  now  am  old,  yet  have  I  not  seen  the 


208  NEW    HOPE  J    OR, 

righteous  forsaken,  nor  his  seed  begging  bread  ?'     Let 
this  comfort  you.     Oh!  fear  not  for  us,  my  father." 

"  It  does  comfort  me,  my  child ;  but  so  weak  is  the 
flesh,  that  we  cannot  at  all  times  lay  hold  on  the  Di- 
vine promises,  and  this  is  one  of  our  severest  trials." 
So  saying,  he  would  draw  his  daughter  to  him,  and 
embrace  and  bless  her. 

Was  she  not  happy  then,  though  the  tears  were 
streaming  from  her  eyes  1  Did  she  not  feel,  in  the 
love  of  such  a  father,  a  purer  joy  than  earthly  prosper- 
ity can  bestow?  The  pressure  of  adversity  only  con- 
solidates, and  strengthens,  and  purifies  the  finer  feel 
ings  of  our  nature,  when  they  have  been  subjected  to 
the  will  of  our  heavenly  Father. 


THE   RESCUE.  209 


CHAPTER  XXIII. 

WHEN  William  Henry  was  about  to  set  out  to 
see  the  land  in  the  Loop,  which  Isaac  Forster  had 
represented  as  the  best  of  the  surveys,  or,  rather, 
as  the  least  worthless,  his  father  charged  him  par- 
ticularly to  look  for  some  spot  on  the  survey  which, 
might  serve  them  for  a  home.  "For,"  said  he,  "I 
have  been  examining  Hockley's  claim  to  this  land, 
and  I  think  it  probable  that  his  legal  title  is  better 
than  mine  ;  and  if  such  should  prove  to  be  the  case. 
I  will  oppose  no  technical  obstacles,  which  I  am 
told  may  exist,  to  his  immediate  possession.  Pos- 
session should  follow  right  without  delay,  and  I 
cannot,  under  any  circumstances,  consent  to  de- 
prive another  of  his  just  and  legal  rights;  so  that, 
after  the  fall  session  of  the  District  Court,  we  shall 
have,  I  believe,  to  seek  another  New  Hope.  Sure- 
ly, on  this  survey  of  4000  acres,  some  nook  or  cor- 
ner of  cultivable  land,  sufficient  to  supply  us  with 
bread,  may  be  found  ;  and  if  so,  we  must  build  a 
cabin  on  it,  and  go  to  clearing  again." 

This  land  was  really  a  London  survey,  the  most 
worthless,  barren,  mountainous,  and  rocky  of  all 
that  had  been  conveyed  to  Mr.  Ballenger ;  but  he 
had  been  induced  to  believe  that  this  was  the  best. 
He  had  written  to  several  persons  in  the  different 
localities  where  his  lands  were  situated,  in  order  to 
gain  correct  information  in  regard  to  their  value. 
Few  answers  had  been  returned — so  few,  indeed, 
that  he  afterward  suspected  some  foul  play  at  the 
9* 


210  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

postoffice,  where  an  intimate  friend  of  Isaac  For- 
ster  was  the  postmaster;  and  the  few  that  he  did 
receive  confirmed  Isaac's  statements.  These  might 
have  been  written  without  any  understanding  with 
nim,  by  persons  who,  like  him,  thought  they  had 
an  interest,  as  intended  purchasers,  to  keep  the 
owner  in  the  dark  as  to  their  value. 

William  Henry  crossed  the  Kanawha  below  the 
falls,  and  passing  to  the  west  of  Jenkins's  Mount- 
ain, or  Cotton  Hill,  arrived  at  the  cabin  of  Ben 
Bramble,  whjch  served  him  to  sleep  in  when  he 
was  at  home,  for  he  could  not  be  said  to  live  there, 
but  in  the  woods.  Ben  was  ready  for  him,  and 
waiting  by  appointment.  Taking  Long  Nancy,  as 
he  called  his  gun,  on  his  shoulder,  and  his  toma- 
hawk, in  addition  to  his  long  knife,  shot-pouch,  and 
powder-horn,  and  calling  his  dogs,  he  mounted  old 
Skewbald.  Young  Kate  was  at  Mr.  Ballenger's  ; 
she  stayed  there  more  than  at  her  own  home,  and 
seemed  to  prefer  Matilda's  caresses  and  company 
to  those  of  her  master.  Ben  often  left  her  there. 

William  Henry  had  a  rifle  and  hunting  knife,  but 
no  tomahawk.  Ben  asked  him  if  he  was  afraid 
that  Miss  Helen  would  take  him  for  an  Indian  if  he 
carried  a  tomahawk. 

"No,"  replied  William  Henry;  "her  mother's 
ancestors  were  Indians,  and  carried  tomahawks; 
she  might  like  me  the  better  for  it  for  aught  that  I 
know ;  but  I've  never  learned  to  use  one." 

"You  ought,  then;  a  tomahawk's  a  good  friend 
in  the  woods,"  said  Ben ;  "  but  was  her  mother's 
Ant  Ester  in  the  Injun  wars,  or  was  she  a  squaw  1" 

"  One  of  her  mother's  great-great,  I  don't  know 
how  many,  great-grandmothers  was  an  Indian  prin- 
cess, a  squaw  named  Pocahontas,  the  daughter  of 
Powhatan,  in  Old  Virginia.  She  went  to  England, 
married  an  Englishman,  and  had  a  child,  from  whom 
are  descended  some  of  the  Bolings  and  Randolphs." 

"I've  hearn,"  said  Ben,  "that  Squire  Temple- 
man's  wife  was  a  Randal.  And  she  come  of  a 


THE    RESCUE.  211 

squaw,  did  she  1"  William  Henry  nodded  assent. 
"  Then  I  wouldn't  a  married  her  to  have  saved  her 
life.  The  squire  didn't  know  that  when  he  mar- 
ried her,  take  my  word  for  it.  He's  had  to  fight 
agin  them  copper-coloured  villuns  many  a  time. 
He  wouldn't  a  married  a  gal  that  had  a  drop  of  that 
venomous  blood  in  her  veins  if  he  know'd  it,  on- 
less  his  promise  was  out  fust.  Why,  no  longer  ago 
than  November,  '91,  he  was  nigh  being  kilt  by  'em 
in  St.  Clar's  defeat ;  he  and  I  both  was  in  the  rear- 
guard after  Colonel  Darke  broke  through  the  In- 
juns, and  made  a  way  for  all  to  retreat  that  was  left 
alive.  Major  Clarke,  who  commanded  us,  was  kilt, 
and  then  nothin'  could  keep  the  boys  from  break- 
in'  arid  runnin'  like  scared  buffaloes ;  and  the  Lit- 
tle Turkic  that  was  over  the  Injuns  was  a  yellin' 
and  a  whoopin'  behind  'em  like  a  born  red  devil, 
as  he  was.  The  squire  was  a  capting  then.  He 
sot  down  on  a  log,  out  of  breath  with  runnin',  and 
weak  from  bleedin',  for  he  was  wounded  in  the  arn\ 
A  private  in  his  company  come  along  strainin'  by 
on  a  horse  he  had  kotched,  and  seein'  the  capting, 
and  the  Injuns  close  behind,  he  jumped  down, 
throw'd  the  squire  up  on  the  horse,  and  led  him 
off  by  the  bridle  at  full  gallop;  and  they  got  clear, 
though  their  clothes  were  cut  all  to  pieces  by  the 
rifle-balls  of  the  Injuns.  The  squire  offered  to  give 
that  man  five  hundred  acres  of  land,  for  he  know'd 
he  was  poor.  But  the  soldier  didn't  like  to  be  paid 
for  doing  his  duty,  and  he's  poor  yit,  they  say." 

Ben  didn't  mention  the  name  of  the  soldier  that 
saved  Squire  Templeman's  life.  But  the  squire,  in 
a  conversation  afterward  in  relation  to  that  event, 
related  the  same  anecdote  ;  and  when  William  Hen- 
ry asked  him  what  was  the  name  of  the  soldier  that 
saved  his  life,  he  answered, 

"His  name  is  Ben  Bramble,  the  man  who  has 
been  here  frequently  with  you  ;  as  brave  a  soldier 
and  as  honest  a  man  as  breathes  the  breath  of 
life." 


212  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  He  mentioned  the  circumstance,"  said  William 
Henry,  "  but  omitted  the  name  of  the  private." 

"  That's  like  him,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  but  I'll  be 
bound  he  did  not  omit  to  mention  what  it  does  not  be- 
come me  to  allude  to." 

"  That,  you  offered  to  giv-e  the  soldier  a  tract  of 
land,"  said  William  Henry. 

"  Yes,"  said  the  squire.  "  Ben  never  fails  to  men- 
tion what  he  considers  the  good  actions  of  others, 
though  he  rarely  speaks  of  his  own.  But  they  speak 
for  themselves,  and  in  a  louder  language  than  words 
can  utter.  Give  me  an  army  of  such  men  in  any  good 
cause,  and  I  would  defy  defeat." 

As  Ben  and  William  Henry  were  riding  along,  Ben 
asked  him  where  the  lands  were  they  were  going  to 
look  at. 

"  Here  in  the  Loop,  some  six  or  eight  miles  above 
the  ferry  on  New  River,"  said  William  Henry. 

"  It's  a  fine  country,"  said  Ben  ;  "  that  is,  for  bar  and 
other  varmints,  but  not  good  for  the  plough,  I  guess. 
It's  rough,  rocky,  ridgy,  and  cliffy — at  least  most  on 
it  is." 

"  We  must  try  to  find  some  place  for  a  little  farm 
on  it,  at  any  rate,  Ben,  for  I  fear  Hockley  will  drive 
us  from  New  Hope." 

When  they  arrived  at  the  squire's  and  were  dis- 
mounting from  their  horses,  they  saw  the  squire  and 
Mr.  James  Dixon  coming  from  the  house  towards  a 
very  fine-looking  horse  standing  at  the  rack. 

"  Just  the  horse  to  suit  your  worship,"  said  Jimmy ; 
"  active,  quiet  as  a  lamb,  perfectly  sound,  and  only  six 
years  old." 

"  But  I  don't  want  a  horse,"  said  the  squire. 

"No  matter,"  said  Jimmy;  "only  look  at  him,  and 
you  will  want  him.  I  brought  him  all  the  way  frjna 
Richmond  on  purpose  for  you,  squire,  knowing  how 
exactly  he'd  suit  you  ;  and  that  such  a  judge  of  horse- 
flesh as  you  are,  if  you  got  a  good  look  at  him,  would 
not  let  him  slip  through  your  fingers.  Only  look  at 
him  and  ride  him,  and  you  will  want  him  j  and,  sir, 


THE    RESCUE.  213 

you  shall  have  him  cheap  as  dirt — for  half  his  real 
value — for  fifty  dollars  less  than  any  other  living  man, 
'poii  my  honour." 

"  How  are  ye,  gentlemen  ?"  said  the  squire  to  Ben 
and  William  Henry ;  "  I'm  glad  to  see  you.  Going 
to  look  at  Mr.  Dixon's  fine  horse  just  to  oblige  him, 
for  I've  told  him  I  don't  want  to  buy  a  horse.  Walk 
in  or  come  with  us,  as  best  pleases  you,  gentlemen." 

"  We'll  look  at  the  horse,"  said  William  Henry. 

"  Do,  gents,"  said  Jimmy.  "  He's  a  clinker  of  the 
best  blood — Janus,  Wild-air,  Bully-rock,  and  Old  Med- 
ley. Only  look  at  his  ears,  head,  neck,  and  eyes," 
said  Jimmy.  "  What  a  charger  he  would  make, 
squire !" 

"  Only  six  years  old,  did  you  say  1  Then  he  can't 
be  the  same,"  said  the  squire,  winking  at  Ben  Bram- 
ble, "  that  you  had,  Mr.  Dixon,  at  the  battle  of  the 
fallen  timber." 

"  It's  the  same  horse,"  said  Een,  "  I.  guess,  for  he 
is  of  the  same  colour  and  size,  and  must  be  'bout 
twj-lve  or  thirteen  years  old  now  ;  for  Jimmy  told  Mad 
Antony  that  he  was  six  years  old  then.  But  old  Gran- 
ny Cuss  and  Sicar  wouldn't  buy  him,  though  Jimmy 
offered  him  as  low  as  ninety  pounds." 

Mr.  Dixon  seemed  very  restless  during  these  re- 
marks. 

"  Tell  Mr.  Ballenger,  Ben,  what  you  know  of  that 
horse  of  Jimmy's." 

"  When  we  was  gwine  on,"  said  Ben,  "  from  camp 
Greenville,  Mr.  Dixon  overtuck  the  army,  and  said  he 
came  all  the  way  from  Ole  Viginny  to  bring  a  horse 
to  the  gineral  ;  that  thar  worn't  sich  another  in  the 
world.  Mad  Antony  looked  at  the  horse,  and  told 
Jimmy  he  never  byed  an  ontried  horse ;  but  as  he  had 
brought  him  so  fur,  he'd  have  him  tried  if  Jimmy  de- 
sired it.  Jimmy  seemed  mightily  pleased,  and  said, 
'To  be  sure,  gineral.'  'Well,  sir,'  said  Mad  Antony, 
'your  horse  shall  have  a  fair  chance;  you  shall  ride 
him  yourself.  My  friend  Major  Trice  is  an  excellent 
judge  of  horses  ;  report  yourself  to  him  as  a  volunteer. 


214  NEW    HOPE  :    OR, 

and  I  shall  know  what  stuff  man  and  horse  both  are 
made  of,  by  G — d.'  Jimmy  know'd  he  was  penned, 
and  not  a  drawbar  down,  I  tell  you.  So  off  he  went 
to  the  major  and  reported  himself,  lookin'  not  quite  so 
pleasin'  as  he  does  now.  When  we  got  nigh  the  in- 
imy,  Major  Price,  who  commanded  us,  was  sent  on 
afore  to  see  whar  the  red-skin  rascals  was,  with  orders 
to  retreat  when  he  found  out  ther  lurkin'-place  and 
how  they  had  fixed  for  us.  On  we  went,  twell  we 
got  some  four  or  five  mile  before  the  main  body  of  the 
army,  among  the  fallen  timber  that  a  horricane  had 
tore  up  and  broke  down.  In  a  minit  the  Injuns  riz 
and  fired  upon  us.  Jimmy,  who  had  bin  put  in  the 
foremost  squadron,  when  we  wheeled  and  begun  to  re- 
treat at  a  full  gallop,  jumpin'  the  logs  and  trees,  jest 
slipped  right  down  off  on  that  fine  horse,  and  split  for 
it  a  foot,  clarin'  the  trees  like  a  buck ;  but  his  horse 
fell  heels  over  head  at  the  fust  log  he  tried  to  jump, 
that  wasn't,  I'm  ready  to  qualify,  knee  high,  and  skin- 
ned his  face  and  legs  as  if  he  had  bin  rammin'  'em 
agin  a  stone-wall.  As  Jimmy  passed  his  horse,  we 
heard  him  say,  '  I  know'd  how  'twould  be.  I  hope 
the  Injuns  will  kill  you,  you  stumblin',  clumsy  devil — 
thank  God,  I  didn't  trust  my  scalp  on  your  infernal 
back.'  Well,  we  seed  no  more  of  Jimmy  nor  his 
horse  twell  after  the  battle,  in  which  we  gin  it  to  the 
red-skins  as  they  desarved — when  we  was  burnin'  the 
corn-fields  nigh  Capting  Campbell's  garrison,  when 
Jimmy  rode  up  to  the  sfineral,  and  told  him  that,  at  the 
fust  fire  of  the  Injuns,  a  ball  creased  his  horse,  and 
caused  him  to  fall  and  skin  himself,  as  he  was  clearin' 
a  log  above  six  foot  high.  This  must  be  that  same 
horse,  that  the  boys  named  Loggerhead." 

"  It's  no  such  thing,"  exclaimed  Jimmy.  "  Look  in 
his  mouth.  I  never  could  keep  any  horse  six  months." 

"  If  you  could  sell  him  or  swap  him,"  added  the 
squire. 

"  You  know,  Ben,"  said  Jimmy,  "  that  I  sold  Log- 
gerhead, as  you  call  him,  to  the  British  commander  at 
Detroit.  I  only  got  fifty  pounds  for  him.  But  I  sold 


TUB    RESCUE.  215 

him  at  that  low  price,  hoping  the  weight  of  that  mount- 
ain of  a  man  would  kill  Loggerhead,  and  that  he  would 
fall  down  and  kill  Colonel  England  for  supplying  the 
Indians  with  arms  and  ammunition  to  fight  against  us." 

"  The  most  generous,  humane,  and  patriotic  horse- 
sale  I  ever  heard  of,"  said  Squire  Templeman.  "  Gen- 
eral Wayne  and  the  country  ought  to  be  very  much 
obliged  to  you,  Mr.  Dixon,  for  transferring  your  kind 
and  considerate  services  from  Mad  Anthony  to  Colonel 
England." 

"  You  don't  want  my  horse.  I  see,  squire,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  Well,  let's  go  into  the  house." 

"  Hellow  !  Peter,  take  these  horses  to  the  stable," 
cried  the  squire  to  a  servant.  "  Gentlemen,  you  spend 
the  night  with  me  ?" 

Although  we  can  understand  how  the  vanity  of  the 
horse-trader  may  induce  him  to  relate  the  tricks  and 
cheatery  which  he  has  practised,  and  even  to  exag- 
gerate them,  yet  we  cannot  comprehend  on  what  prin- 
ciples this1  avowal  of  tricks  played  on  others  is  offered, 
it  would  seem,  as  a  guarantee  against  the  same  game's 
being  played  on  us.  For  at  no  time  is  the  dealer  so 
apt  to  relate  them  as  when  he  is  attempting  to  practice 
them.  He  surely  does  not  reflect  that  this  obvious 
thought  must  present  itself  to  every  prudent  man,  "  It 
is  my  turn,  now,  to  be  the  subject  of  his  knavery." 
Does  the  dealer  think  that  his  present  professions  will 
outweigh  his  avowed  past  practices  in  our  estimate  of 
what  he  will  do  in  regard  to  us  ?  It  must  be  so,  or  he 
is  entirely  blinded  by  the  pleasure  of  self-esteem,  so 
much  promoted  by  his  recitals. 

As  they  entered  the  porch,  William  Henry  inquired 
of  the  squire  if  he  was  acquainted  with  a  survey  of 
land  some  six  or  eight  miles  above  the  ferry,  com- 
monly known,  lately,  as  Buchanan's  survey. 

"  I  am  not,"  said  the  squire. 

"  Is  it  the  4000  acre  surrey,"  said  Jimmy,  "  con- 
veyed to  your  father  ?" 

"  The  same,  sir,"  said  William  Henry. 

"  I  kuow  every  foot  of  it,"  said  Jimmy,  "  as  well 


216  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

as  I  did  the  wrinkles  in  my  grandmother's  face." 
(Jimmy's  grandmother  actually  died  the  year  before 
he  was  ushered 'into  this  horse-trading  world.)  "I'm 
going  to-morrow  within  half  a  mile  of  that  land  to  see 
a  man  that  has  a  Wild-air  colt  to  sell.  He  got  him 
near  Petersburg,  in  part  of  a  legacy  left  to  him  by  an 
old  uncle  of  his,  a  Mr.  Braxton,  I  think,  who  was  fa- 
mous for  fine  horses.  He  imported  Kitty  Fisher,  that 
run  four  miles  in  seven  minutes  and  five  seconds,  and 
repeated  in  exactly  seven  minutes,  Mr.  Ballenger." 

"  I'm  glad  you  are  going  so  near  that  land,"  said 
William  Henry.  '•  My  business  in  the  Loop"  (Dixon 
doubted  it — ikat.,  he  thought,  was  his  father's)  "  is  to  see 
that  land,  and  I  shall  be  glad  to  have  your  company, 
Mr.  Dixon." 

"  With  all  pleasure  in  life,  Mr.  Ballenger,"  said 
Jirnmy ;  "  I  will  show  you  every  foot  of  it — every 
hole  and  corner  in  it  and  on  it.  It's  a  rough  country, 
though,  sir — ups  and  downs,  rocks  and  ridges,  ivy- 
bushes  and  thickets  all  over  it.  There's  hardly  a 
place  on  it  level  enough  to  lie  down  on,  unless  it's  in 
a  branch." 

This  was  a  discouraging  account. ;  but  Squire  Tem- 
pleman  observed.  "  See  it  with  your  own  eyes,  Mr. 
Ballenger.  The  eye  gives  us  a  more  accurate  and 
faithful  idea  of  a  country  than  any  verbal  or  written 
description  can  give." 

Does  it  seem  strange  to  our  readers  that  the  owners 
of  Western  lands  living  on  the  Atlantic  inclined  plane 
should  be  so  ignorant  of  their  situation  and  value,  or 
should  set  so  small  a  value  on  them  1  If  they  have 
ever  seen  the  lands  on  Guyandotte  River,  more  ferule 
than  any  on  the  Potomac  or  James  River ;  if  they 
have  ever  seen  those  around  Lexington  in  Kentucky, 
we  can  assure  them  that  lands  on  the  former,  parts  of 
Savage's  patent,  now  worth  twenty  thousand  dollars, 
then  sold  for  a  bottle  of  rum  and  a  jack-knife,  and  that  one 
of  the  most  beautiful  and  fertile  tracts  near  Lexington, 
now  called  the  Athens  of  the  West,  and  worth  870,000, 
was  sold  for  a  rifle-gun  and  a  pair  of  buckskin  breech- 


THE    RESCUE.  217 

es.  There  were  Isaac  Forsters,  too,  in  miniature,  as 
well  as  of  full  size,  throughout  the  Western  country, 
buying  up  the  soldiers'  land- warrants.  Land  specu- 
lation was  a  branch  of  business  as  much  as  horse- 
trading;  and  there  was  full  as  much  jockeying  in  the 
one  as  in  the  other — full  as  much  truth  and  honesty. 

Miss  Helen  Templeman  appeared  at  the  supper- 
table.  Whether  that  increased  the  appetite  of  any  of 
the  company  or  her  own,  we  do  not  know  ;  but  we  do 
know  that  the  squire,  Ben  Bramble,  and  George  Ar- 
buckle  Ternpleman,  the  squire's  only  son,  a  youth  of 
sixteen,  did  ample  justice  to  the  viands  set  before 
them ;  and  if  there  were  not  many  exchanges  of 
plates,  there  were  of  glances  between  some  members 
of  the  party.  We  never  could  comprehend  the  rela- 
tion existing  between  appetite  and  passion,  love  and 
hunger  ;  there's  a  deep  mystery  in  it  almost  unfathom- 
able, or  we  should  have  been  at  the  bottom  of  it,  doubt- 
less, long  ago.  A  distinguished  physician  and  elo- 
quent professor  in  a  Northern  university  once  said, 
"  There's  no  cure  for  love  like  starving — no  preventive 
like  a  course  of  water-gruel."  As  all  this  is  Greek  to 
us,  we  leave  it  to  young  ladies  who  receive  diplomas 
at  boarding-schools  and  institutes,  who  may,  among 
other  experiments  in  the  natural  sciences,  discover  the 
rationale  of  starving  young  gentlemen  out  of  love  and 
of  feeding  them  into  it;  if,  indeed,  it  is  true  that  the 
tiKiiii  road  to  the  heart  passes  through  the  stomach. 
What  are  its  commencement,  course,  and  termination, 
they  ought  to  know  from  their  physiological  and  ana- 
tomical studies,  so  well  calculated  not  only  to  make 
them  knowing  in  such  matters,  but  to  set  them  in  the 
best  possible  way  for  performing  a  lady's  duties  in  life. 


218  NEW  HOPE;  OB, 


CHAPTER  XXIV.  ' 

AFTER  supper  Mr.  Dixon  was  entertaining  Buck 
Templeman  (for  such  was  the  abbreviation  of  George 
Arbuckle  Templeman's  name)  with  an  account  of  his 
last  trip  to  Old  Virginia,  and  more  especially  with  a 
description  of  some  fine  imported  horses  belonging  to 
a  Mr.  Lightfoot,  who  lived  on  James  River,  and  of  a 
race  between  a  horse  called  Lamplighter  and  another 
celebrated  horse,  in  which  race  Jimmy  said  that  Lamp- 
lighter ran  four  miles  in  seven  minutes  and  ten  seconds. 
Now  we  do  not  vouch  for  the  accuracy  of  the  time  re- 
ported by  Mr.  Dixon,  although  Lamplighter  was  a  very 
fine  horse  (we  have  a  descendant  of  hi*  for  sale),  be- 
lieved by  his  owner,  Mr.  Tilghman,  to  be  the  best 
horse  in  America,  and  who,  we  think,  did  beat  the 
celebrated  Cincinnatus. 

The  squire  and  Ben  Bramble  were,  in  their  conver- 
sation, travelling  over  every  foot  of  ground  from  Fort 
Washington  to  the  Rapids  of  the  Miami,  deep,  and 
miry,  and  dangerous  as  it  was.  They  went  over 
again  St.  Clair's  disastrous  campaign,  and  Wayne's, 
so  long  in  preparation,  so  short  and  fortunate  in  its  ter- 
mination. They  had  built  over  again  Fort  Defiance, 
and  Ben  was  reminding  the  squire  of  the  escape  of  a 
young  man  who  had  been  taken  prisoner  by  the  In- 
dians, and  made  his  escape  in  the  night,  and  reached 
the  American  camp  in  safety.  He  was  fresh  from 
school,  and  entirely  ignorant,  of  course,  of  those  un- 
erring indications  and  directions  so  well  understood  by 
hunters  and  woodsmen  ;  yet,  guided  by  what  he  had 
learned  at  school  of  the  position  of  certain  stars,  he 
succeeded  in  reaching  the  camp  of  his  countrymen. 
Ben  said  it  was  the  only  time  he  "  ever  knovv'd  book 
larnin'  to  do  any  good  in  the  woods.  The  young 
man,"  he  added,  "  declar'd  that  the  Ussor  Midgor 


THE    RESCUE.  219 

guided  him  ;  and  something  must,  I  know,"  continued 
Ben,  "for  he  cum  in  a  bee  line  to  camp  twenty 
miles." 

"  How  I  should  like  to  study  astronomy,"  said  Miss 
Helen  to  William  Henry. 

Now  Miss  Helen  was  a  very  polite  young  lady,  and 
seeing,  after  supper,  that  her  father  and  brother  were 
entertaining  Ben  Bramble  and  Mr.  Dixon,  or  vice  versa, 
she  kindly  took  compassion  on  William  Henry,  and  ad- 
dressed her  conversation  to  him.  Whether  it  was  that 
she  spoke  in  too  low  a  tone,  or  he  was  a  little  deaf 
from  cold,  we  do  not  know,  but,  in  order  to  hear  her, 
he  was  forced  to  move  his  chair  close  up  to  hers  in 
the  corner,  and  near  the  window.  That  habit  in  young 
ladies  of  speaking  so  low  that  a  young  gentleman  can- 
not hear  them  unless  he  is  almost  touching  them,  is  a 
sad  fault ;  and  we  have  observed  that  it  is  a  very  com- 
mon one,  especially  of  an  evening,  when  the  atmo- 
sphere is  usually  damp  and  affects  the  hearing. 

"  I  do  not  know  a  single  star,"  continued  Miss  Helen, 
looking  out  of  the  window  at  the  bright  and  twinkling 
luminaries  that  were  shining  in  the  clear  blue  sky, 
"  by  its  classical  name.'' 

"  I  make  no  pretensions  to  the  character  of  an  as- 
tronomer," said  William  Henry  to  her,  "  yet  I  know 
some  of  the  constellations  and  bright,  particular  stars," 
looking  into  Miss  Helen's  eyes,  "  by  their  names.  Let 
me  have  the  pleasure,  Miss  Templeman,  of  giving  you 
a  first  lesson  in  astronomy.  We  shall  have  a  better 
view  of  the  heavens  from  the  porch  than  through  the 
window."  So  saying,  he  led  the  young  lady  into  the 
porch,  and  for  fear  of  interrupting  the  gentlemen  within 
the  house,  he  closed  the  door  after  him.  He  either 
had  a  dull  pupil  or  gave  very  copious  explanations,  for 
this  first  lesson  occupied  at  least  one  whole  hour. 

"  Oh !  papa,"  said  Miss  Helen  on  her  return  to  the 
room,  "  what  a  pleasing  study  astronomy  is  !  Mr  Bul- 
lenger  has  made  me  see  stars  I  never  observed  before, 
and  there  are  such  beautiful  tables  connected  with  their 
names !  The  star  iu  the  belt  of  Orion  is  so  bright ; 


220  NEW    HOPE  J    OR, 

and  the  Ursa  Major  is  Calisto,  whom  Jupiter  translated 
to  the  heavens  and  made  a  constellation.  The  com- 
mon people  call  it  Charles's  Wain  :  only  think  of  their 
calling  a  woman  a  wagon." 

"  It's  not  worse,  I'm  sure,  than  calling  her  a  bag- 
gage," said  her  father. 

"  And  the  two  lower  stars  of  the  constellation,"  con- 
tinued Helen,  "  they  call  the  hind  wheel  of  the  wagon, 
or  the  pointers,  because  they  always  point  to  that  star 
in  the  tail  of  the  Ursa  Minor,  or  Little  Bear,  which  is 
the  pole-star  ;  and  that  cluster  of  unformed  stars  called 
Coma  Berenices  —  how  Euergetes  must  have  loved 
her  for  vowing  to  dedicate  her  beautiful  locks  to  Venus 
if  he  returned  in  safety  from  his  dangerous  expedition  ; 
and  what  a  charming  allegory  it  is,  that,  when  her  hus- 
band returned  victorious,  those  same  beautiful  tresses 
that  she  had  cut  off  and  deposited  in  the  temple  of  Ve- 
nus, should  disappear  from  the  temple,  and  reappear,  in 
all  their  dishevelled  beauty,  in  the  skies." 

It  was  evident  to  the  squire  that  Helen  was  attempt- 
ing to  talk  herself  out  of  some  little  confusion,  or  to 
hide  it.  Ben  Bramble  sat  with  his  mouth  open,  sta- 
ring at  her.  At  last  he  drew  a  long  breath,  and  said, 
"  So,  then,  the  fust  lesson  in  'strogomy  is  makin' 
gals  see  stars  they  never  seed  afore,  and  givin'  high- 
larnt  names  to  huggin'." 

Helen  was  off  in  a  moment,  like  a  frightened  deer, 
and  always  believed  that  Ben  had  seen  through  the 
window  William  Henry's  arm  stealing  around  her  slen- 
der waist  as  they  stood  conversing  in  the  porch.  They 
saw  no  more  of  Miss  Helen  that  evening  j  and  even 
the  next  morning,  when  the  gentlemen  came  into  the 
breakfast-room,  and  she  saw  Ben's  eyes  slyly  glancing 
at  her,  she  could  not  conceal  the  burning  blushes  that 
suffusf  d  her  neck  and  face.  After  breakfast,  when  all 
the  gentlemen  had  walked  out  except  Ben,  he  went  up 
to  Helen,  and  said, 

"  You  musri't  mind  me,  honey  ;  if  you  git  that  young 
man,  you'U  do  monstrus  well ;  thar  ain't  a  finer  boy 
west  of  the  mountins  than  him,  and  his  father  and  sis- 


THE    RESCUE.  221 

ter  is  as  good  people  as  thar  is  on  yearth.  His  sister, 
Miss  Mattie,  is  mity  like  you,  only  she  ain't  got  so 
wicked  an  eye." 

"How  could  you  serve  me  so,  Ben,  last  night1?" 
said  she. 

"  I  declar,  I  shall  git  right  mad  with  you  if  you 
talk  so.  I'll  try  to  mind  my  p's  and  q's  better  herear- 
ter,  honey  ;  but  'twas  all  a  joke.  I  seed  nothin',"  said 
Ben ;  "  I  declar  I  only  conjectured  how  it  mought  be 
— I  raaly  seed  nothin'." 

"  Yes  you  did,"  said  Helen. 

"  Thar  'tis,  now,"  said  Ben  ;  "  she's  gone  and  con- 
fessed it.  But  what's  your  daddy  and  Master  Will 
talkin'  so  arnest  about  out  yonder  ?  He's  got  a  mity 
down,  beggin'  look,  ain't  he  ?" 

Helen  cast  one  glance  through  the  window,  and  ran 
up  stairs  ;  nor  did  she  even  return  to  receive  the  adieus 
of  the  gentlemen  when,  shortly  after,  they  departed  to 
see  Mr.  Ballenger's  land.  We  should  not  follow  them 
into  those  woods  over  the  New  River  hills,  for  in  our 
day  we  have  had  enough  of  that,  but  merely  state  the 
results  of  their  reconnoissance,  if  it  were  not  for  some 
circumstances  that  happened  illustrative  of  the  charac- 
ter of  persons  mentioned  in  this  narrative,  and  of  oth- 
ers quite  numerous  in  the  West  at  that  time,  and  not 
yet  extinct  on  the  frontiers. 

After  they  had  ridden  some  hours,  Mr.  Dixon  re- 
quested William  Henry  and  Ben  Bramble  to  ride  on 
to  the  top  of  a  high  ridge  then  in  view,  saying  that  he 
wished  to  see  the  man  who  owned  the  Wild-air  colt, 
and  who  lived  within  a  quarter  of  a  mile  of  where  they 
then  were,  and  that  he  would  overtake  them  in  a  few 
minutes.  They  rode  on,  and  Mr.  Dixon,  diverging  from 
the  path  towards  the  river,  galloped  off  along  a  foot- 
path scarcely  perceptible.  In  a  few  minutes  he  ap- 
proached a  cabin  in  a  deep  hollow,  surrounded  by  an 
enclosure  of  about  two  acres,  and  on  reaching  the 
fence  he  sung  out  "  Hollow!"  An  old  man  appeared 
at  tho  door  of  the  cabin  with  a  gun  in  his  hand. 

"  How  are  you,  Obed  ?"  said  Jimmy  to  him. 


222  XEW  HOPE;  OR, 

"Jimmy  Dixon,  ain't  it?"  interrogated  the  man. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Jimmy. 

The  old  man  put  down  his  gun  and  came  out  to  the 
fence. 

"  Well,  Obed,  the  young  'un's  come,  and  Ben  Bram- 
ble with  him,  to  roust  you  out  of  your  nest." 

"  Whar  are  they  ?"  asked  the  old  man. 

"  Gone  on  to  the  top  of  the  ridge,"  replied  Jimmy. 

"  Tell  'em  apart,  Jimmy,  and  I'll  fix  the  young  'un 
as  they  go  down  the  dry  run  on  t'other  side,"  said  the 
old  man.  "  No  livin'  man  shall  turn  me  out  on  my 
possession — my  claim.  This  is  my  settlement,  and 
Ballenger  had  no  right  to  buy  over  my  head.  Why 
didn't  he  come  like  an  honest  man,  and  offer  me  a  fair 
price  for  my  improvement  ?" 

"  He  ain't  able,"  said  Jimmy. 

"  Then  he  ain't  able  to  git  this  land,  anyhow." 

"There's  no  need  of  burning  gunpowder,"  said 
Jimmy.  "  He's  looking  for  a  place  for  a  farm' — not  a 
little  patch  like  yours  ;  and  all  that's  needful  is  to  keep 
him  from  finding  any  of  the  level  land,  and  he'll  go 
home  satisfied.  If  we  can't  hinder  him  from  seeing 
the  flats,  why,  then,  old  man,  it  will  be  time  enough  to 
shoot  at  something  in  the  bushes." 

"  If  that's  all,"  said  the  old  man,  "  it's  easy  enough 
to  lead  'em  over  the  whole  4000  acres  without  their 
seeing  a  place  level  enough  for  a  'taler-patch." 

"  Well,"  said  Jimmy,  "  I'm  their  guide,  and  I've  come 
now  to  get  directions  from  you  how  to  manage  it." 

"  I  can  do  it,"  said  Obed  ;  "  but  the  bullet  is  the  least 
trouble,  and  the  surest,  arter  all.  They  may  come 
agin,  mayhap." 

"  Not  they,"  said  Jimmy.  "  Ballenger  has  a  power 
of  land,  and  he'll  leave  the  trouble  of  shooting  him  to 
some  other  squatter." 

"  I'd  rather  do  it  now,  and  make  sure,"  said  Obed, 
turning  to  go  to  the  house. 

Jimmy  called  him  back,  and  although  there  was  no 
other  person  within  sight  or  hearing,  he  leaned  over 
the  fence  and  whispered  in  his  ear. 


THE    RESCUE.  223 

"  Well,  well,"  said  Ob*d,  "  it  raought  be  sorter  on- 
conveniunt  to  have  men  sarchin'  about  here  for  a  ded 
body.  Do  you  go,  then,  right  down  to  the  big  elhun 
yander,  and  show 'em  the  lower  corner;  then  pass 
back  of  my  claim  here,  and  keep  straight  out  twell 
you  come  to  the  ridge  path  ;  foller  that  up  to  the  blown- 
up  poplar ;  then  turn  to  the  left  right  down  to  the  river 
agin,  to  the  upper  corner  gum-tree  at  the  mouth  of  the 
branch ;  then  foller  the  river  cliff  twell  you  get  to  the 
hangin'  rock — you'll  know  the  one  I  mean  by  the 
ashes  under  it — then  clime  up  the  cliff,  and  so  back 
to  the  ridge  path.  They  won't  see  nothin'  worth 
comin'  here  for.  I'll  go  on  to  the  flats,  and  if  they 
should  come  thar — " 

"  Or  should  go  up  the  branch,"  interposed  Jimmy. 

"  I'll  stop  ther  sarchin'  for  this  time,  anyhow,"  said 
Obed  Stapler,  the  squatter  on  Mr.  Ballenger's  land. 

Jimmy  turned  his  horse's  head  to  ride  away,  but 
before  he  was  out  of  sight  of  the  cabin  he  saw  the 
old  man  come  out  of  it  with  his  rifle  in  his  hand,  and 
move  off  rapidly  iu  a  direction  parallel  to  the  path 
in  which  he  was  riding,  and  disappear  in  the  woods. 
Let  no  man  buy  land,  or  attempt  to  settle  a  farm,  on 
the  frontier  settlements  of  America  even  now,  on 
which  there  are  squatters,  if  he  values  his  life,  without 
first  seeing  them  and  purchasing  out  their  rigJilsf  and 
paying  them  for  their  improvements.  Obed  Stapler  is 
no  uncommon  character  in  the  backwoods. 

William  Henry  had  not  the  slightest  idea  of  the 
danger  he  was  incurring  in  his  mission ;  he  did  not 
know  that  there  was  a  squatter  on  the  land.  Ben 
Bramble  had  told  him  that  they  were  dangerous  peo- 
ple to  deal  with  in  the  woods,  but  supposed  there  were 
none  on  this  land.  This  Obed  Stapler  had  lately  come 
into  the  Loop,  and  squatted  on  Mr.  Ballenger's  land  ; 
who  he  was,  whence  he  came,  and  for  what  purpose 
he  had  selected  that  secluded  spot,  Mr.  Isaac  Forster 
could  have  informed  us  if  he  chose,  or  if  it  suited  his 
purposes,  which  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  Isaac 
was  in  the  habit  of  finding  settlements  for  people.  It 


224  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

is  possible  that  if  the  elder  Mr.  Ballenger,  instead  ol 
his  son,  had  gone  to  look  at  the  land,  Old  Stapler  might 
not  so  easily  have  been  dissuaded  from  using  his  rifle 
that  day.  This  is  only  a  conjecture  of  ours.  We 
would  not  injure  the  character  of  Isaac  Forster  by 
saying  that  he  had  induced  Stapler  to  settle  there, 
knowing  that  the  old  man  would  shoot  the  owner  of 
the  land  if  he  ever  set  his  foot  on  it.  It  will  be  recol- 
lected that  he  had  found  an  excellent  settlement  for 
the  carpenter  on  his  own  land  in  New-York. 

Mr.  Dixon,  after  parting  with  Stapler,  soon  overtook 
Ben  Bramble  and  William  Henry,  and  told  them  he 
would  first  conduct  them  to  the  lower  corner  of  the 
land  on  the  river,  where  stood  a  large  elm-tree,  if  he 
remembered  rightly.  To  this  they  went,  as  Stapler  had 
directed  Jimmy.  Following  Jimmy,  and,  consequently, 
the  directions  of  the  squatter,  they  passed  over  the 
roughest  parts  of  the  survey  that  it  was  possible  for 
horses  to  travel  over.  They,  of  course,  saw  not  a 
patch  of  level  land  large  enough  for  a  garden,  much 
less  for  a  farm.  It  was  remarked,  however,  by  Ben, 
that  some  rascal  had  been  marking  trees  for  corners 
higher  up  and  lower  down  the  river,  and  also  corre- 
sponding ones  en  the  back  line,  so  as  to  make  it  diffi- 
cult to  ascertain  the  beginning  of  the  survey.  This, 
he  told  William  Henry,  was  not  an  uncommon  practice 
to  cheat  the  non-resident  owners  of  Western  lands. 

After  exploring  the  land  thoroughly,  as  they  thought, 
Ben  proposed  that  they  should  dismount  and  try  to  find 
a  bear,  as  he  saw  signs  among  the  ivy-bushes  where 
they  then  were.  Now  there  were  at  least  three  suita- 
ble places  for  farms  on  this  survey  of  good  land  ;  yet 
so  carefully  had  Jimmy  followed  the  directions  of 
Obed  Stapler,  that  they  were  kept  out  of  view.  Ben, 
William  Henry,  and  Mr.  Dixon  alighted,  and  tied  their 
horses  on  a  high  ridge  near  the  river.  Ben  advised 
Jimmy  to  keep  the  top  of  the  ridge,  while  he  would 
beat  the  thickets  parallel  to  him  and  half  way  down  to 
the  river,  and  William  Henry  should  descend  the  ridge 
and  pass  along  the  ledge  of  rocks  nearest  to  the  river. 


THE   RESCUE.  225 

Jimmy  had  no  gun,  and  Ben  said  if  he  roused  a  bear 
or  deer,  it  would  pass  him  or  William  Henry  towards 
the  river.  Jimmy  was  armed,  but  they  did  not  know 
it,  for  he  had  a  pair  of  pistols  and  a  dirk. 

William  Henry  had  barely  reached  the  ledge  of  rock 
hanging  above  the  river,  and  at  least  a  hundred  and 
fifty  feet  above  the  water,  when,  turning  a  sharp  angle 
in  the  wall  of  rock,  he  came  suddenly  on  a  couple  of 
cubs  in  a  recess  of  the  ledge.  They  were  not  larger 
than  cats,  and  he  determined  to  take  them  and  carry 
them  to  George  Arbuckle  Templeman.  He  set  down 
his  rifle  against  the  rock,  and  took  up  one  of  them. 
The  little  creature  immediately  began  to  whine.  In  a 
moment  he  heard  a  rush  through  the  ivy-bushes  in 
front,  and  about  five  feet  above  the  platform  on  which 
he  stood.  He  was  at  no  loss  to  conjecture  what  it 
was,  for  a  large  she-bear  was  plainly  visible  within 
thirty  yards  of  him.  To  drop  the  cub,  seize  his  rifle, 
and  fire  at  her  was  the  work  of  but  a  moment.  A  shot 
under  such  circumstances,  even  by  more  experienced 
hunters,  is  rarely  mortal.  Although  she  was  wounded 
and  bleeding  profusely,  the  bear  was  on  him  in  an  in- 
stant. Down  they  came  on  the  rock,  and  rolled  to  the 
very  brink  of  the  perpendicular  precipice.  Her  teeth 
were  through  his  belt  and  clothes,  grazing  his  side, 
and  her  arms  squeezing  the  breath  out  of  his  body. 
One  of  his  legs  was  dangling  over  the  edge  of  the  diz- 
zy cliff  as  he  seized  a  small  bush  with  one  hand,  and 
with  the  other  was  trying  to  reach  the  handle  of  his 
knife.  The  roots  of  the  bush  were  cracking  and  giv- 
ing way  every  moment.  He  had  given  himself  up  for 
lost,  when  he  felt  the  enraged  animal  relax  her  grasp, 
and  himself  jerked  out  of  her  arms  and  against  the 
rampart  of  rocks  above  him.  Ben  Bramble  had  cleft 
the  head  of  the  bear  with  a  single  stroke  of  his  toma- 
hawk. William  Henry  was  on  his  feet  in  an  instant, 
panting  and  bloody,  with  his  eyes  protruding  nearly 
out  of  his  head. 

"  Whar  are  you  hurt?"  asked  Ben. 

"  Nowhere,  I  believe,"  replied  William  Henry,  when 
10 


226  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

he  got  breath  to  speak.  "  It's  her  blood,  not  mine," 
he  added,  seeing  Ben  looking  at  the  blood  on  his 
clothes  ;  "  but  she. made  me  see  stars,  I  tell  you  ;  she 
nearly  squeezed  the  breath  out  of  me,  she  did." 

Ben's  face  relaxed  into  a  smile  as  he  said,  "  Well, 
boy,  you've  had  yer  fust  lesson  in  'strogomy.  She  made 
you  see  stars,  did  she  ?  It  worn't  Helen  Templeman 
this  time,  any  how.  'Twas  rough  huggin',  that,  and  a 
she-bar  hain't  much  love  in  her  when  she  does  it, 
nuther.  Hain't  she  tore  your  side  whar  she  grabbed 
you  ?" 

"  No,"  said  William  Henry,  "  thanks  to  my  leather 
belt  and  rough  coat.  I'm  not  hurt  at  all  except  this 
hand,  with  which  I  held  on  to  the  bush." 

"  You  may  well  afford,"  said  Ben,  "  to  lose  that  part 
of  natur's  glove  ;  it  saved  your  life.  She'd  have  had 
you  off  of  this  fether  bed  in  no  time.  Thar  she  lays  a 
quiverin'  yit.  They  are  monstrous  hard  to  die  when 
they  are  mad.  Why,  if  it  had  bin  an  ole  'oman,  she'd 
have  fit  for  her  young  'uns,  try  it  any  time  you  will. 
Tryin'  to  steal  cubs  from  a  she-bar  without  a  tomahawk, 
Master  Will!  You'll  larn  better  nor  that  if  you  live 
long  with  the  old  shes  in  these  woods." 

They  heard  the  report  of  a  pistol,  and  shortly  after- 
ward, 

"  Hellow  !  what's  to  pay  down  there  ?" 

Looking  up,  they  saw  Jimmy  Dixon  looking  at  them 
from  the  top  of  the  ridge,  and  Ben  answered, 

"  Come  and  see." 

When  Jimmy  got  near  the  scene,  he  stopped,  and 
Ben  said  to  him, 

"  Why  didn't  you  come  when  you  heard  the  rumpus 
down  here  on  the  rocks  ?" 

"  I  had  enough  to  do  where  I  was,"  said  Mr.  Dixon, 
approaching  the  spot  where  they  stood.  "  It's  well 
for  you  all  that  the  old  he  put  at  me." 

"  Put  at  you,"  said  Ben  Bramble.     "  Whar  ?" 

"  Why,  on  the  top  of  the  ridge,"  said  Jimmy.  "  He 
come  at  me  like  a  thunder-gust  through  the  bushes. 
But  I  was  ready  for  him.  Didn't  you  hear  me  shoot  ? 


THE    RESCUE.  227 

I  dropped  on  all  fours,  and  drawing  a  pistol,  met  him  at 
full  gallop.  He  stopped  short,  as  I  knew  he  would, 
seeing  me  coming  right  at  him,  and  looked  as  if  he 
thought, '  Who  the  devil  are  you  V  Just  as  I  got  with- 
in six  feet  of  him  I  fetched  a  grin,  and  fired  right  at 
his  mouth ;  the  ball  split  his  skin  from  the  end  of  his 
chin  between  his  fore  legs  clean  to  his  tail.  He  yell- 
ed as  if  the  devil  had  him,  and  just  as  I  drew  the  other 
bull-dog,  and  was  about  to  jump  forward  to  give  it  to 
him  touching  his  head,  he  wheeled,  and  of  all  the 
scared  creeturs  I  ever  saw,  he  was  scared  the  worst. 
He  tore  off  down  the  other  side  of  the  ridge,  and  turn- 
ed heels  over  head  at  least  a  dozen  times  before  he  got 
out  of  sight.  He  hardly  took  time  to  get  up  again  when 
he  tumbled  over,  he  was  in  such  an  almighty  hurry. 
I  lay  any  money  he  don't  stop  this  side  of  never.  Why, 
this  thing  laying  here  ain't  a  circumstance — hardly  a 
huckleberry  to  him." 

During  this  tale  of  Jimmy's  Ben  Bramble  said  not 
a  word,  but  his  looks  expressed  a  degree  of  scorn  and 
ineffable  contempt  not  in  the  power  of  words  to  utter. 
Every  look  said  as  plainly  as  looks  can  say,  "  Well, 
of  all  the  lies  I  ever  listened  to,  that  is  the  biggest  and 
the  most  bear-faced."  William  Henry  had  dragged 
the  bear  from  the  edge  of  the  precipice. 

"  We'll  take  her  hide  and  some  of  her  meat,"  said 
Ben. 

"  And  her  cubs  too,"  said  William  Henry.  "  Here 
they  are.  hid  in  this  hole,"  he  added  ;  "  who  would  have 
thought  they  had  sense  to  hide  themselves  so  cun- 
ningly ?" 

"  That's  ther  den.  They  had  come  out  to  play  in 
the  sun  like  children,"  said  Ben,  "  when  you  come 
upon  'em." 

The  bear  was  soon  flayed,  and  the  choice  parts  roll- 
ed up  in  the  skin. 

"  How  shall  I  carry  the  babies  ?"  said  William  Hen- 
ry, drawing  the  cubs  from  the  hole. 

"  Hain't  you  got  on  drawers  ?"  asked  Ben  ;  "  if  you 


228  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

has,  pull  'em  off,  and  tie  up  the  lower  eends,  and  put 
one  in  each  leg,  and  swing  Jem  across  yer  saddle." 

This  ingenious  plan  was  adopted.  13en  shouldered 
the  skin  and  meat,  and  William  Henry  the  cubs,  and 
they  ascended  the  hill  to  their  horses. 

"  Where  in  the  world  can  the  dogs  be  ?"  said  Will- 
iam Henry. 

"  They  are  gallopin'  and  grinnin',  I  guess,  replied 
Ben,  "  arter  the  old  he  that  Mr.  Dixon  seed." 

That  worthy  had  returned  to  the  horses  before  them, 
and  was  seated  on  the  ground  whittling  a  stick.  They 
mounted  their  horses  and  left  the  survey.  When  they 
arrived  at  Squire  Templeman's  gate,  Mr.  Dixon  left 
them,  alleging  that  he  had  business  with  somebody. 
"William  Henry  thanked  him  for  his  kind  services  in 
showing  the  land,  and  rode  on  with  Ben  to  the  squire's 
house. 

Our  readers  know  much  better  than  William  Henry 
did  how  much  he  was  indebted  to  Mr.  Dixon,  and  how 
well  the  latter  was  entitled  to  his  thanks  for  the  servi- 
ces rendered  to  him  that  day.  He  might  have  seen 
better  land,  perhaps,  and  he  might  have  lost  his  life  if 
he  did.  Jimmy  prevented  both,  so  the  balance  seems 
rather  to  be  in  Mr.  Dixon's  favour,  as  he  liked  it  to  be 
in  all  his  transactions. 


CHAPTER  XXV. 

BEN  BRAMBLE'S  dogs,  Captain  and  Rover,  that 
morning',  soon  after  the  party  left  the  squire's  to 
see  the  land,  and  before  they  had  ridden  more  than 
two  or  three  miles,  stopped  in  the  road  and  began 
to  whine,  then  turned  back,  and  were  seen  to  leave 
the  road,  or,  rather,  path  in  which  they  were  riding 
in  Indian  file.  William  Henry,  who  was  behind 
the  others,  stopped  his  horse  and  called  the  do~«. 


THE    RESCUE.  229 

"  Let  'em  alone,"  cried  Ben  ;  "  we've  no  time 
now  to  hunt.  Let  'em  take  their  nat'ral  pleasure; 
they'll  overtake  us."  But,  as  we  have  seen,  they 
saw  no  more  of  them.  Ben  said  they  had  got  arter 
some  "varmint,"  he  was  sure,  and  had  run  clean 
off.  When  William  Henry  and  Ben  entered  the 
yard  gate,  they  saw  George  Arbuckle  Templeman 
caressing  and  fondling  the  dogs  in  the  porch ;  as 
soon  as  they  heard  their  master's  voice  they  left 
Buck,  and  came  sneaking  and  whining,  with  im- 
ploring looks,  towards  him,  as  if  they  were  ashamed 
of  themselves. 

"Sneaked  back  to  the  house,  and  gone  to  sleep 
like  niggers,"  said  Ben.  "Why,  Buck,  you've  bin 
trickin'  my  dogs,  hain't  you  1" 

"  Oh  no,"  said  Buck,  "  I  haven't  tricked  them  j 
but  they  and  I  have  played  a  glorious  trick  this 
day,  I  tell  you." 

"  Kotcht  a  rabbit,  I  reckon,"  said  Ben,  "from 
ther  mean  looks." 

"Rabbit,  indeed!  Do  you  think  I'd  be  so  mean 
as  to  hunt  rabbits  with  your  dogs  1  No,  no,  Uncle 
Ben,  we've  done  a  trick  that  beat  the  double  of  that 
a  hundred  times  over  and  over." 

"What  is  it,  Arbuckle  1"  asked  William  Henry, 
seeing  the  boy's  eyes  sparkle  with  pride  and  pleas- 
ure the  most  animated. 

"  Why,  in  about  an  hour  after  you  went  away 
this  morning,  I  was  in  the  yard  with  sister  Helen, 
helping  her  to  plant  some  rosebushes,  when  I  heard 
Captain  and  Rover — I  know  their  voices  as  well  as 
I  do  yours,  Mr.  Ballenger — cussing  and  swearing 
out  yonder  in  the  woods." 

"  Stop,  Buck,"  said  Ben,  "  don't  slander  the  car 
actur  of  my  dogs  :  if  they  ain't  Christian  dogs,  they 
are  desent  dogs  at  least ;  and  no  desent  dog  cusses 
and  swars." 

14  Well,  then,"  said  Buck,  "  they  were  a  blasphe- 
ming with  all  their  might.  I  dropped  the  hoe,  and 
ran  into  the  house,  and  told  pa.  'Run,  George,' 


230  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

said  my  father, '  mount  old  Marlborough  ;  he  stands 
fire  well — has  done  it  often ;  take  the  rifle  and  my 
hunting  knife;  but  mind,  sir,  you  are  not  to  use  it 
even  against  a  Moonack  except  to  defend  yourself 
in  case  of  need.  Do  you  hear  V  '  Yes,  sir  ;  yes,  I 
won't ;'  and  I  was  off,  and  on  old  Marlborough  in 
two  minutes.  I  made  him  run  faster  than  the  In- 
dians did  at  St.  Glair's  defeat,  and  father  says  he 
didn't  run  slow.  After  the  dogs  were  nearly  out 
of  hearing,  they  turned,  and  I  could  hear  them  com- 
ing nearer  and  nearer.  I  hauled  up  and  stopped. 
Marlborough's  tail  had  the  shakes,  I  tell  you — a 
real  shaking  ague — while  the  rest  of  him  had  the 
fever,  for  the  sweat  was  rolling  off  of  him  as  if  he 
had  swum  the  river.  I  jumped  down,  and  in  less 
than  no  time  the  biggest  buck  you  ever  saw,  with 
his  hurricane  of  horns,  came  sweeping  by.  I  level- 
led and  fired,  but  he  kept  on.  I  hallooed,  and 
whooped,  and  cheered  the  dogs  as  they  passed 
close  after  him,  loaded,  and  jumped  on  the  old 
horse  again,  and  was  off  after  them  j  in  less  than 
half  a  mile,  just  under  the  hill  yonder,  I  got  near 
them.  They  had  come  up  with  him,  and  had 
brought  him  to  bay.  He  had  stopped  with  his  back 
to  the  high  rock  and  his  feet  in  the  water.  His 
hair  was  all  turned  the  wrong  way,  and  he  looked 
awful.  Every  time  the  dogs  ran  up  to  the  edge  of 
the  branch,  he  lowered  his  horns  and  rushed  right 
at  them,  and  then  he  backed  to  his  former  position. 
I  got  behind  a  large  tree  and  jumped  down.  I  then 
ran  to  another  tree,  so  as  to  get  nearer,  and  with 
his  side  to  me.  I  raised  the  gun  to  fire,  but  I  trem- 
bled so  1  was  afraid  I'd  miss ;  I  blazed  away,  how- 
ever, and  dropped  him  as  dead  as  a  door  nail.  The 
dogs  were  on  him  instantly,  but  the  water  was  so 
deep  it  swam  them.  I  ran  up,  jumped  in,  and  cut 
his  throat.  He  was  so  heavy,  and  the  bank  so 
slippery  where  the  dogs  had  been  jumping  in  and 
out,  that  I  never  should  have  got  him  out  if  the 
dogs  hadn't  helped  me.  I  turned  him  round  with 


TIIE    RESCUE.  231 

his  tail  to  the  bank,  and  taking  hold  of  his  hind 
legs,  I  pulled  and  the  dogs  tugged,  and,  after  slip- 
ping down  two  or  three  times,  we  got  him  out  fair- 
ly on  the  bank.  Didn't  I  hug  the  dogs  !  I've  hard- 
ly got  dry  yet.  Father  heard  the  fuss  at  the  branch, 
and  came  riding  up  just  as  Captain  and  I  were  ta- 
king the  Jast  hug.  'Is  the  dog  hurt  V  cried  he. 
'Oh  no,  sir,'  said  I;  'we  are  only  rejoicing  after 
the  victory.'  '  A  noble  buck,  indeed,'  said  he,  when 
he  reached  the  spot.  '  Why,  Arbuckle,  it  is  the 
largest  I  ever  saw  in  the  Loop.'  We  got  him  up 
on  old  Marlborough,  and  brought  him  to  the  house, 
horns  and  all.  Just  come  behind  the  kitchen  and 
look  at  him.  Oh !  I  forgot  to  tell  you  I  hit  him  the 
first  time  ;  pa  says  if  I  hadn't,  the  dogs  would  hard- 
ly ever  have  brought  him  to  bay,  as  he  was  ma- 
king to  thfc  river.  Aunt  Arbuckle  is  coming  up 
here  this  summer  from  Kanawha  on  her  way  to  see 
Bishop  Madison,  her  brother,  at  Williamsburg,  in 
Old  Virginia.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  don't  send  him 
the  horns  to  hang  his  hat  on  in  the  college." 

"  We've  had  luck  too,"  said  William  Henry. 
"  Come  out  to  the  gate  and  see.  Ben's  got  a  bear- 
skin and  a  fine  parcel  of  meat." 

"Ax  him,  Buck,"  said  Ben,  "what  he  got  on  the 
New  River  Clifft." 

"  Why,  I  got,"  said  William,  laughing,  "  a  tight 
squeeze,  a  sore  hand,  and  a  couple  of  cubs  j  and 
if  it  hadn't  been  for  Ben,  I  should  have  got  my 
walking  papers  from  this  world." 

"  Why,  what  in  the  world  have  you  been  doing! 
here's  ever  so  much  blood  on  you,"  said  Buck. 

"He  got  to  playin',"  said  Ben,  "with  a  bar's 
cubs,  and  it  pleased  the  ole  'oman  so  much  that  she 
nearly  hugged  him  to  death." 

"  Oh,  that's  it,  is  it  1  Where  are  the  cubs  1"  said 
Buck. 

"  Here  in  my  drawers,"  said  William  Henry.  "  I 
brought  them  for  you,  Arbuckle." 

"  Thank  you — thank  you,  brother  Bearbreeches  /" 


232  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

said  Buck,  clapping  his  hands,  and  running  to  the 
drawers,  which  were  lying  in  the  corner  of  the  fence, 
and  untying  the  strings.  "Oh,  you  beauties!  ha! 
ha  !  ha  !  if  this  ain't  the  'cutest  fixin'  for  carrying 
cubs  that  I  ever  saw  in  all  my  life !" 

What  a  slight  circumstance  fixes  upon  a  man  a 
soubriquet  for  life  !  William  Henry  Ballenger  was 
ever  after  known  in  the  Loop  by  the  name  of  Bear- 
breeches  Ballenger. 

On  the  return  of  Ben  Bramble  and  William  Hen- 
ry the  next  day  to  their  respective  homes,  Squire 
Templeman  insisted  on  their  taking  with  them  the 
greater  part  of  the  deer  that  Buck  had  killed,  and 
he  requested  William  Henry,  in  his  name,  to  invite 
his  father  and  sister  to  visit  him  at  his  house  in  the 
Loop,  adding,  "Although  I  have  never  had  the 
pleasure  of  seeing  your  father,  I  feel,  from  what  I 
have  heard  of  him,  as  if  we  were  old  acquaintan- 
ces. I  know  well  what  his  father  was,  and  I  have 
as  much  faith  in  the  blood  and  breeding  of  men  as 
of  horses.  Your  father's  health  would  be  benefited 
by  riding,  I'm  sure,  and  Helen  here  would  be  as 
much  pleased,  I  fancy,  to  see  your  sister  and  make 
her  acquaintance,  as  I  should  be  to  welcome  your 
father  to  my  house." 

At  William  Henry's  request,  Buck  was  permit- 
ted to  accompany  him  to  New  Hope.  It  may  ap- 
pear strange  to  the  reader,  but  it  is  true,  that  Will- 
iam Henry,  after  relating  to  the  squire  the  result 
of  the  examination  of  his  father's  land,  and  its  sup- 
posed utter  worthlessness,  and  knowing,  as  he  did, 
the  situation  of  his  father's  affairs,  should  be  in 
good  spirits,  much  less  should  be  paying  attentions 
to  the  squire's  daughter  of  no  equivocal  kind.  He 
was  deficient  neither  in  sensibility  nor  good  sense, 
nor  was  he  destitute  of  a  high  sense  of  honour  j 
but  he  was  young,  full  of  health,  ardour,  and  hope. 
Melancholy  anticipations  and  sad  forebodings  are 
no  match  for  these  ;  nothing  but  the  actual  experi- 
ence of  severe  privations  can  repress,  and  conquer. 


THE   RESCUE.  233 

and  keep  in  subjection,  the  feelings  that  are  natu- 
ral to  persons  who  are  young,  healthy,  of  ardent 
temperament,  and — in  love.  Such  will  hope  against 
all  reasonable  hope.  He  had  resolved  to  com- 
mence the  study  of  the  law;  and  visions,  obscu- 
ring the  realities  around  him,  began  to  throw  their 
brilliant  colours  on  the  air-built  castles  of  his  ima- 
gination. Reputation  for  legal  learning,  forensic 
eloquence,  fat  fees,  judgeships,  "  et  ccetera,"  in  Lord 
Coke's  acceptation  of  those  convenient  words,  were 
constantly  presenting  themselves  to  his  mind. 
They  would,  they  should  be  his.  How  could  he 
be  downcast  or  dispirited  1  Helen  Templeman's 
image,  too,  we  believe,  mingled  with  these  visions. 
The  last  words  of  her  father  still  rung  in  his  ears, 
and  produced  most  pleasant  vibrations  as  he  rode 
away  from  his  door. 

During  their  ride  to  Cotton  Hill,  while  he  and 
Buck  were  conversing  very  cheerfully,  Ben  Bram- 
ble seemed  abstracted  and  melancholy.  He  did  not 
utter  half  a  dozen  words  in  as  many  miles,  and  part- 
ing with  them  at  his  own  cabin,  entered  it,  while 
they  continued  their  ride  to  New  Hope.  Need  we 
say  that  Buck  became  a  great  favourite  with  Ma- 
tilda>  Uncle  Tom,  and  even  Mr.  Ballenger  himself  1 
Sad  as  this  gentleman  was  rendered,  though  we 
cannot  say  disappointed,  by  the  unfavourable  re- 
port which  his  son  made  to  him  of  the  appearance 
and  little  value  of  his  land  in  the  Loop,  he  was 
amused  and  cheered  by  the  sprightliness,  nai'vetr, 
and  manly  bearing  of  this  youth.  Brought  up  and 
almost  entirely  educated,  so  far  as  he  could  be  said 
at  his  age  to  be  educated,  by  his  elder  sister  and 
his  father,  a  soldier  and  a  well-educated  gentleman, 
he  was  chivalrous,  brave,  and  polite;  a  tolerable 
scholar,  but  full  of  frolic  and  fun  ;  a  great  romp, 
yet  scrupulously  polite  to  the  ladies,  according  to 
liU  notions  of  politeness.  No  labour  was  too  great, 
no  hazard  too  perilous,  to  obtain  for  them  any  en- 
joyment. If  they  wished  to  ride,  he  was  their 
10* 


234  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

willing  and  gallant  escort ;  to  fish,  he  baited  every 
hook;  to  gather  flowers,  he  climbed  every  cliff  or 
waded  every  swamp.  Nuts,  apples,  wild  fruits  of 
the  field  and  forest,  were  never  wanting  to  the  girls 
where  Buck  was.  Instead  of  throwing  down  his 
cloak  for  a  queen  to  walk  upon,  he  would  have 
thrown  himself  down  for  the  humblest  peasant  girl 
to  walk  on  over  difficulty  or  danger.  He  would 
risk  his  life  to  reclaim  a  pet  bird  or  squirrel ;  yet 
he  would  plague  old  or  young,  would  kiss  the  girls, 
would  make  them  squeal  in  romping,  would  put 
bugs  on  them,  and  even  into  their  bosoms,  would 
slyly  pull  out  pins  and  untie  strings,  undo  their 
curls,  or  fasten  their  ringlets  to  his  buttons,  when 
they  were  pouting.  He  had  great  personal  advan- 
tages—  a  fine  form,  small  feet,  beautiful  hands,  and 
a  very  handsome  face  ;  brown,  polished  skin,  and 
high  complexion,  like  his  sister.  He  was  just  such 
a  boy  as  young  ladies,  especially  of  a  certain  age, 
are  sure  to  scold  and  reprimand,  and  coax,  and  pet, 
and  spoil,  to  allow  to  take  great  liberties  with  them, 
and  to  call  mister  when  they  are  alone  together. 

He  had  not  been  at  New  Hope  two  days  before 
he  made  Mr.  Ballenger  laugh  outright  half  a  dozen 
times,  and  Matilda  squall  as  often.  "  Buck,  you 
are  too  rude,"  she  would  say;  "only  look  at  my 
hair  and  neckdress — does  your  pretty  sister  permit 
you  to  behave  so  to  her,  mister  V 

"  Oh  no,  Miss  Mattie,  she's  too  stately  a  little 
Injun  for  me ;  it  takes  Bearbreeches,  here,  to  man- 
age her ;  besides,  she  slaps  too  plaguy  hard  when 
/  condescend  to  kiss  her,"  said  Buck,  laying  great 
emphasis  on  the  /,  and  looking  most  archly  at 
William  Henry.  "Besides,  she's  my  sister,  you 
know,  and  that  makes  a  great  difference.  Other 
young  ladies  don't  slap  half  so  hard  as  sisters,  or  I 
don't  feel  them  rear  so  much,  I  don't  know  which. 
There's  some  young  man,  now,  I'll  be  bound,  that 
you  wouldn't  look  at  half  so  savage  if  he  was  only 
to  snatch  a  kiss  as  I  did.  Just  tell  me  who  it  is  j 


THE    EESCUE.  235 

I  can  keep  a  secret,  and  I  won't  put  you  in  the  pouts 
again  for  I  don't  know  how  long.  I've  come  down 
here  just  to  get  a  look  at  you,  and  to  find  out  who's 
your  sweetheart ;  for  William,  here,  is  so  close,  I  can't 
get  anything  out  of  him.  What  sort  of  a  boy  is  he — 
anything  like  me  ?  I  declare,  if  I  was  only  a  grown 
man,  I'd  try  to  cut  him  out.  Here  comes  Uncle  Tom 
— I'll  ask  him.  Uncle  Tom,  don't  you  want  some- 
thing I've  got?" 

"  I  don'  no,  Massa  Buckle.  I  don'  no  what  you  is 
got,  but  imperance." 

"  Well,  I'll  give  part  of  that,  and  all  of  everything 
else  I've  got,  if  you'll  only  tell  me  who  comes  here  to 
see  this  young  mistress  of  yours." 

"  Heap  on  'em  comes  here,  Massa  Buckle  ;  but  dis 
nigger  don'  no  what  dey  is  arter — ef  I  was  in  Alexan- 
dry  I  could  tell." 

"How,  Uncle  Tom?" 

"  Why,  sar,  when  dey  goes  a  courtin'  dar,  de  gem- 
man  goes  to  de  massa  an'  axes  leave  to  walk  de  plant- 
ation or  de  lot,  an'  den  de  servants  hears  on  it ;  but 
tain't  so,  I  b'leve,  out  here." 

"  Ah,  Uncle  Tom,  you  are  too  well  drilled — there's 
no  getting  anything  out  of  you,  I  see." 

"  Dar  ain't  nothin'  in  me  to  git  out,  Massa  Buckle." 
Old  Tom  pulled  off  his  hat,  and  turning  to  his  mas- 
ter, said,  "  Supper's  ready,  if  you  please,  sir." 

After  supper,  Matilda  sung  and  played  for  Arbuckle 
and  her  brother. 

"  Oh,  how  I  wish  my  sister  was  here,"  said  Buck. 
"  How  she  would  enjoy  herself  in  this  happy,  happy 
house  !  Wrill  you  permit  me,  Miss  Mattie,  to  copy 
that  music  for  her  ?" 

"  Certainly,  Arbuckle,  or  any  that  I  have.  But 
stop,  I  think  I  have  two  copies.  Yes,"  said  Matilda, 
turning  over  her  unbound  music,  "  here's  another  copy 
that's  never  been  used.  Present  it  to  her  in  my  name, 
or,  if  you  prefer  it,  give  it  to  your  sister  in  your  own. 
And,  Mr.  Arbuckle,  I  shall  expect  from  your  gallantry 
the  wild  flowers  you  promised  me — though  you  didn't 


236  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

promise,  but  you  mentioned  them,  and  asked,  Mr.  Ar- 
buckle,  if  I  would  like  to  have  them  this  morning ; 
and  recollect,  sir,  I  must  have  their  proper  names, 
too." 

"  Oh,  that's  easy  enough  ;  my  sister  Helen,  the 
squaw,  has  been  bothering  me  with  Botany  all  this 
spring.  I've  learned  more  hard  words  than  would 
make  a  dictionary,  walking  in  the  woods  with  her  this 
spring  and  last  fall.  You  shall  have  the  Jeffersonia 
to-morrow.  It  abounds  —  no,  that's  not  the  word  — 
habitats  in  the  bottoms  here  whenever  the  Puccoon — 
(I  beg  pardon,  you  don't  understand  the  language  spo- 
ken by  Helen's  great  ancestor,  King  Powhatan) — the 
Sanguinaria  Canadensis,  is  found.  The  Jeffersonia  is 
very  much  like  it,  but  the  leaves  and  seed-vessel — 
capsula,  I  should  say — are  different ;  the  latter  is  re- 
markable, and  very  pretty.  It -is  called — let  me  see,  a 
Pyxidium — yes,  that's  the  word ;  a  little  snuff-box  that 
opens — no,  dehiscates  horizontally.  I  wonder  if  Mr. 
Jefferson  takes  snuff.  Miss  Mattie,  you  must  walk  in 
the  woods  with  me." 

"  Not  I,  Mr.  Arbuckle  ;  you  are  too  much  of  a  sav- 
age— you  might  raise  a  war-whoop,  or  scalp  me,  for 
aught  I  know,  as  you  pretend  to  be  so  much  pleased 
with  my  hair." 

"  'Pon  my  word,  I'll  behave,"  said  Buck. 

"  I  will  be  his  security,  Matilda,"  said  her  father, 
"  for  anything  that  he  promises  to  do." 

"  The  wild  flowers  already  cover  the  banks  of  the 
river.  You  will  find  some  rare  and  beautiful  speci- 
mens, finer  and  more  delicate,  in  my  opinion,  than  any 
which  you  saw  in  the  greenhouses  in  Philadelphia 
two  years  ago." 

Mr.  Ballenger  had  entered  the  room  as  Buck  was 
promising  to  behave. 

"  There,  now,"  said  Buck,  "  you  can't  refuse  when 
your  father  is  to  be  security  for  my  good  behaviour. 
I'll  show  you  where  and  how  to  plant  them  in  your 
garden.  I  know  all  about  it ;  I've  served  an  appren- 
ticeship under  the  squaw  at  home.  You  must  go,  Ma- 


THE    RESCUE.  237 

tilda,  dear,  to  see  her.  She'll  love  you,  I  know  ;  and 
she's  got  a  whole  bed  of  what  father  calls  dog-tooth 
violet,  but  she  says  they  are  Erythoniums ;  beautiful, 
beautiful,  they  are,  with  long,  sword-like,  spotted  leaves, 
and  modest,  downcast,  white  corollas,  forming  a  goblet 
for  fairies  to  drink  out  of,  with  the  points  of  the  petals 
all  reflected.  And  the  purplish-blue  Gladiolus  Cya- 
neus,  with  its  yellow  spots  on  the  petals,  which  she 
says  must  be  a  congener  of  the  Great  Mexican  Tigri- 
di;i ;  and  the  Corydalis  of  two  kinds,  distinguished  by 
their  roots.  Father  calls  them  Dutchmen's  breeches  ; 
but  I  suspect  they  must  have  cubs  in  them,"  said 
Buck,  looking  at  William  Henry,  "  and  I  shall  change 
their  name  to  Ballenger's  breeches." 

"How  so?"  inquired  Mr.  Ballenger. 

"  Ask  William  Henry,  sir ;  he  knows  all  about  it. 
Helen  will  tear  up  every  one  of  them,  I  know,  when 
she  hears  their  new  botanical  name,  Ballengeri  Brac- 
ca." 

"Where  did  you  learn  Latin,  Arbuckle?"  inquired 
Mr.  Ballenger,  surprised  at  the  boy's  ready  Latinization. 

"  I  had  a  smattering  of  it,  sir,  whipped  into  me  at 
Williamsburg." 

After  an  early  breakfast  the  next  morning,  Matilda 
and  Arbuckle,  followed  by  Uncle  Tom  with  a  basket 
and  trowel,  were  brushing  away  the  dew  on  the  banks 
of  the  river,  and  the  southern  sides  of  the  cliffs  and 
mural  precipices  of  that  enchanting  and  picturesque 
locality.  It  was  charming  to  watch  their  active  but 
graceful  movements  —  to  hear  their  joyous  exclama- 
tions when  they  found  a  flower  —  to  see  that  lovely 
girl  and  manly  boy  hanging  with  ecstasy  of  delight 
and  admiration  over  the  wild-wood  flowers  on  the 
green,  sunny  banks  of  the  deep-blue  water  that  reflect- 
ed their  forms  from  the  mirror  of  its  unruffled  surface. 
Boys,  beware  of  such  rambles  ;  they  are  attended  with 
danger.  Young  ladies,  remember  the  fate  of  Proser- 
pine ;  she  was  gathering  flowers  when  the  Devil — 
but  you  know  the  sad  story,  so  we  will  go  on  with 
ours. 


238  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

Buck  and  Matilda  found  a  great  number  of  fine  spe- 
cimens, and  he,  acquainted  with  their  modes  of  radi- 
cation,  took  them  up  with  the  trowel,  and  deposited 
them,  with  balls  of  earth  around  the  roots,  in  the  basket. 
Uncle  Tom  soon  had  quite  a  load.  They  were  climb- 
ing the  steep  cliff  to  get  at  a  splendid  bunch  of  Colum- 
bine, when  Matilda,  who  had  reached  the  flower,  and 
was  stooping  over  it,  uttered  a  loud  cry.  Arbuckle 
was  standing  on  the  ledge  of  rock  just  below  her.  He 
saw  the  cause  of  her  alarm,  and  as  she  threw  herself, 
pale  and  trembling,  from  the  platform  on  which  the 
flower  grew,  he  caught  her  in  his  arms,  and  ran  down 
the  inclined  plane  towards  the  river  with  her  as  easily 
as  if  she  had  been  an  infant,  and  laid  her  on  the  grass. 

"  Don't  be  frightened,"  said  he  to  her  ;  "  you  are  safe 
now." 

"  Oh,  what  a  snake  !"  said  Matilda  ;  "  only  hear  his 
dreadful  rattling." 

The  rattlesnake,  for  it  was  one,  roused  from  his 
sleep  in  the  sun  by  their  intrusion,  had  thrown  himself 
into  coil  at  the  foot  of  the  flower  to  defend  himself. 
His  head  was  raised — his  eyes  flashed  fire  ;  his  forked 
tongue  darted  and  quivered  like  a  flickering  flame,  and 
his  tail,  from  the  rapidity  of  its  vibrations,  was  almost 
invisible,  while  his  glittering,  golden,  and  burnished 
brown  scales  were  flashing  in  the  sunlight. 

"  Compose  yourself,  Miss  Matilda ;  you  are  entirely 
out  of  his  reach,  and  those  noble  fellows  disdain  to 
pursue  such  cowards  as  we  are." 

The  snake  ceased  to  sound  his  battle  signal,  and 
Matilda  rose  to  her  feet,  trembling  still,  and  holding  on 
to  Buck's  arm,  and  would  have  fled  down  to  the  river 
if  she  had  had  the  strength  to  fly.  Arbuckle  assured 
her  that  there  was  not  the  slightest  danger  where  she 
stood ;  that  they  were  far  beyond  his  reach,  and  that 
he  could  kill  him  very  easily.  Her  colour  returned, 
and  she  ceased  to  tremble  so  violently,  but  she  kept 
her  eyes  fixed  on  the  magnificent  reptile. 

Uncle  Tom  had  dropped  his  basket  and  run  down 
the  hill  at  least  forty  yards,  and  there  he  stood,  with 


THE    RESCUE.  239 

his  mouth  wide  open,  gasping  and  panting  as  if  he  had 
run  half  a  mile,  with  his  white  eyes  stretched,  and  sta- 
ring on  the  glittering  snake.  At  last  he  broke  out, 

"  'Tis  de  debil  heself — Lor',  missus,  why  don't  you 
run  ?  He'll  put  out  his  foot  presently,  an'  cum  down 
dat  hill  like  a  hoss.  God  a  mity  !  he  make  noise  just 
like  pourin'  shell-corn  out  on  a  dry  barrel." 

"  Come  up  here,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  Arbuckle,  "  and 
take  a  good  look  at  him.  He  can't  hurt  you." 

"  Dis  nigger  ain't  a  fool,"  said  Tom.  "  He  ain't 
gwine  trust  hisself  nigh  no  creetur  like  dat,  what  hides 
his  legs  twell  he  wants  to  use  'uin." 

"  Legs  indeed,  you  old  blockhead  ;  a  snake  has  nei- 
ther legs  nor  feet,"  said  Buck. 

"  Don't  tell  me,"  said  Tom  ;  "  it's  all  desete  in  'urn. 
I've  seed  ther  feet  myself — trow  'um  on  de  fire,  an' 
den  you'll  see  de  debil  put  out  dem  scrapers  in  a  minit." 

"  Come  up  and  stand  with  Miss  Mattie,  and  I'll  show 
you  how  to  tame  a  rattlesnake,  and  make  him  ashamed 
of  frightening  a  lady." 

"  Don't  go  near  him,  I  pray  you,"  said  Matilda. 

"  Never  fear,"  said  Buck ;  "  1  am  used  to  them  ;  I 
have  learned  a  way  to  manage  them,  and  cool  their 
courage,  without  giving  them  the  slightest  chance  to 
strike  me.  I've  done  it  often." 

Uncle  Tom  would  not  budge  a  foot :  so  Arbuckle 
took  up  the  basket  and  trowel,  and  led  Matilda  to  the 
spot  where  he  was  standing,  the  muscles  of  his  face 
working  as  if  each  had  a  life  and  will  of  its  own. 

"  Now,"  said  Buck,  "  I'll  show  you." 

"  Oh,  let  me  entreat  you  not  to  approach  the  dread- 
ful creature !"  cried  Matilda. 

"  Make  yourself  easy,  miss,"  said  Buck  ;  "  believe 
me,  I  know  there  is  not  the  slightest  danger ;"  and  off 
he  went  up  the  hill,  saying,  as  he  went,  "  Only  see 
how  I  will  tame  the  devil,  as  Uncle  Tom  calls  him." 

He  ran  to  a  white  ash  sapling,  and  cutting  a  long 
branch  covered  with  green  leaves,  cautiously  approach- 
ed the  snake,  now  stretched  out  and  basking  in  the 
warm  rays  of  the  sun,  and  laid  the  branch  gently  on 


240  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

his  head.  The  snake  rolled  over  and  over,  and  at- 
tempted to  thrust  his  head  into  the  earth.  Arbuckle 
shoved  him  with  the  branch  off  of  the  rock  down  on 
the  grassy  inclined  plane,  laid  the  branch  over  him, 
and  called  to  Matilda, 

"  Come  up,  miss,  and  look  at  him.  There  is  no 
more  danger  than  if  he  was  dead." 

After  some  hesitation  and  violent  remonstrances 
from  Uncle  Tom,  she  summoned  up  resolution  enough 
to  approach  within  ten  yards. 

"  See,"  said  Buck,  "  how  his  colours  are  faded,  and 
how  he  tries  to  keep  his  head  away  from  the  leaves 
of  the  ash.  It  makes  them  deadly  sick,  I  believe. 
Come  up,  Uncle  Tom,  and  look  at  the  devil." 

"  I  won't  do  no  sich  ting ;  dat  deseteful  crfetur's 
only  playin'  possum  tvvell  he  gits  a  chance  to  fix  you, 
Massa  Buck." 

"  Go,  then,"  said  Arbuckle,  "  and  cut  me  an  oak  or 
hickory  branch  with  leaves  on  it." 

"  I'll  cut  'urn,  but  how  you  gwine  git  it?" 

He  cut  the  branch,  and  stood  staring  first  at  Buck 
and  then  at  the  snake. 

"  Bring  it 'along,  you  old  coward,"  said  Buck. 

He  came  within  about  twenty  yards,  and  threw  the 
long,  slender  branch  of  hickory  to  Buck,  saying, 

"  You  don't  git  me  any  niglier  dan  dis,  I  know ;  de 
furder  you  keep  from  de  debil,  de  better  j  I  won't  trust 
him,  no  how." 

"  Now,  Miss  Mattie,  walk  down  the  hill  to  Uncle 
Tom,  and  don't  be  alarmed  when  I  permit  Massasanga 
here  to  show  his  IShawnee  blood  a  little." 

When  she  reached  old  Tom,  Buck  raised  the  ash 
branch  from  off  the  snake,  and  placed  the  hickory  one 
over  him.  He  raised  his  head,  threw  himself  into 
coil,  erected  his  tail,  rattled  violently,  and  struck  furi- 
ously at  the  branch  placed  over  him.  His  brilliant 
colours  returned,  and  flashed  forth  the  light  like  a  war- 
rior's shield.  Matilda  stood  her  ground,  but  old  Tom 
ran  down  the  hill  again,  crying  out, 

"  Run,  missus,  run  for  de  life  ob  you.     He  gwine 


THE    RESCUE.  241 

put  out  he  foot  now,  an'  come  down  dis  hill  like  a  race 
hoss." 

Buck  replaced  the  ash  branch  over  him,  and  again 
he  uncoiled,  rolled  over,  and  attempted  to  cover  his 
head  under  the  grass.  Buck  turned  the  butt-end  of  the 
hickory,  and  with  one  blow  killed  him. 

"  He's  dead  now,  Uncle  Tom,  devil  or  no  devil,  so 
come  and  get  the  basket  and  trowel."-" 

"  You  sure,  massa,  he  dead  ?  gib  him  nudder  lick  on 
de  head  'fore  I  cum." 

As  Uncle  Tom  stooped  to  take  up  the  basket,  Buck 
took  the  snake  by  the  tail  and  dropped  it  at  his  feet. 
The  old  man  leaped  high  in  the  air,  and  fled  down  the 
hill,  looking  behind  him  at  every  step. 

"  Why,  Uncle  Tom,  I  didn't  think  you  were  so  scary 
as  to  run  from  a  dead  snake,"  said  Buck,  laughing. 

"  Please  God,"  said  the  old  man,  "  you  don't  ketch 
me  in  de  woods  agin  wid  you.  You  is  too  ventursom 
an'  foolhardy.  I  gwine  take  care  ob  dis  nigger  here- 
arter,  or  try,  any  how." 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

ARBUCKLE  took  the  snake  with  him  to  the  house, 
ft  was  quite  a  large  one,  with  eleven  rattles  and  a 
bud. 

"  So  you've  had  a  frolic  this  morning-,  Arbuckle," 
said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  and  have  got  a  snake  as  well 
as  a  basket  of  flowers." 

"•  I  never  was  so  frightened  in  my  life,"  said  his 
daughter.  "I  was  just  putting  my  hand  upon  the 
most  beautiful  Columbine  I  ever  saw,  when  I  hap- 
pened to  see  the  shining-  eyes  of  that  snake  lying 
at  full  length  in  the  sun,  not  three  feet  from  me.  1 
hardly  know  how  I  got  out  of  its  way." 

"I  do,  though,  sir,"  said  Buck.     "This  prudish 


242  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

little  daughter  of  yours  threw  herself  into  my  arms, 
and  hugged  me  all  the  way  down  the  hill,  after 
binding  me  over  to  my  good  behaviour,  and  requi- 
ring security  too." 

"Ain't  you  ashamed,  Buck,  to  tell  such  a  story  1 
The  truth  is,  sir,  I  was  so  alarmed  I  hardly  knew 
what  I  did;  but  I'm  sure  1  didn't  do  what  Mr.  Im- 
pudence says  I  did." 

"  It's  the  truth,  sir,  upon  my  honour  ;  ask  Uncle 
Tom — he  saw  the  whole  affair." 

"No,  sar,"  said  Tom,  "I  didn't  see  nothin'  but 
the  snake,  an'  Miss  Mattie  risin'  up  off  on  de 
ground.  How  she  got  dar  I  don't  know;  de  snake 
made  sich  a  rattlin'  I  couldn't  see  nothin'  fur  de 
noise." 

"Hear,  you  mean,"  said  his  master. 

"No,  sar,  dat  noise  blinded  me  like  a  fillum  ober 
de  eyes.  I  seed  nothin'  twell  Massa  Buck  he  con- 
ger him." 

'-Did  what  1"  inquired  Mr.  Ballenger. 

"  Conger  de  debil,  sar,  wid  de  white  ash." 

"Why,  Arbuckle,"  asked  Mr.  Ballenger,  "are 
you  a  conjurer  1" 

"  Certainly,  sir,  of  a  rattlesnake ;"  and  Buck 
stated  to  him  the  effect  of  the  green  leaves  of  the 
white  ash  on  that  venomous  reptile. 

Mr.  Ballenger  was  much  surprised,  and  said, 

"  I  must  ask  Ben  Bramble  about  this  strange  mat- 
ter." 

Ben  had  just  arrived  with  a  fish-gig  or  spear  on 
his  shoulder,  an  instrument  of  steel  like  a  dinner 
fork  attached  to  a  long  pole.  Ben  told  him  that 
hunters  stuffed  white  ash  leaves  into  their  mocca- 
sins and  pockets  to  keep  snakes  from  biting  them  j 
but  he  said  he  had  never  tried  it  himself. 

"Are  you  ready,  Master  Will]"  said  he  to  Will- 
iam Henry,  who  just  then  came  out  of  the  house 
with  Blackstone's  Commentaries  in  his  hand. 

"Yes,"  replied  William  Henry  ;  "  but  Buck  is  in 
the  garden  with  my  sister,  showing  her  how  to 


THE    RESCUE.  243 

plant  some  flowers ;  he  will  be  here  presently. 
In  the  mean  time,  I  want  to  take  out  the  fangs  of 
this  snake,  and  examine  them  ;  they  are  said  to 
be  hollow." 

"Yes,"  said  Ben;  "they  are  as  a  cow's  horn 
twell  you  come  most  to  the  point,  and  thar's  a 
hole  through  from  the  holler  to  the  outside,  ma- 
kin'  a  groove  slantindicular-like  clean  to  the  point. 
That's  for  the  pison  to  run  in.  When  he  strikes, 
the  pison-bag,  that's  at  the  root  of  the  tooth,  is 
pressed  like  a  blather,  and  the  pison  squirts  through 
the  holler  and  groove  down  as  deep  as  he  drives 
his  tooth  into  ye.  But  I'm  told  here  lately,  if  so 
be  you  drink  a  pint  or  more  of  whiskey  straight  oft 
soon  arter  you  are  struck,  one  pison  kills  t'other, 
and  saves  life." 

On  extracting  the  fangs  and  the  sack  at  their 
roots.  William  Henry  found  Ben's  description  ac- 
curate. 

"  I've  heard,"  said  he  to  Ben,  "that  their  flesh  is 
eatable." 

"  First  rate,"  said  Ben  ;  "and  the  ile,  with  poke- 
root  stewed  in  it,  is  monstrous  good  for  the  ruma- 
tiz,  well  rubbed  in  hot,  if  so  be  you  drive  it  out  by 
drinkin'  pokeroot  tea  sweetened  with  maple  sugar. 
They  tell  me  it  raised  up  old  Mrs.  Morris  when  the 
doctors  had  gin  her  out.  The  Injuns  fust  showed 
that ;  they  knows  yarbs,  too,  to  cure  the  bite  of 
snakes  and  sich-like,  and  a'most  every  ailment  that 
an  Injun  can  have  except  the  smallpox  ;  that  and 
the  liver  complaint,  caused  by  fire-water,  as  they 
call  liquor,  the  old  men  says  is  onnat'ral  to  Injuns 
— cusses  kotcht  from  the  white  men,  that's  beyant 
all  yarbs  and  Injun  conjeration.  The  Injun  natur 
ain't  like  the  white  natur,  and  the  red-skins  don't 
know  how  to  cure  white  ailments;  nor  white  men 
knows  nothin'  of  Injun  ailments,  'cept  'em  hurts 
that's  nat'ral  to  all  colours,  sich  as  snake-bites,  nnd 
bullet-holes,  and  the  like.  But  whar's  Buckle  1" 
"Here,"  said  Buck,  running  from  the  garden. 


244  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"My  hooks  and  lines  are  all  ready,  Uncle  Ben."  A 
fishing-  party  had  been  arranged  by  William  Henry 
and  Ben  as  they  returned  from  Squire  Temple- 
man's. 

"  I  have  borrowed  Ben  Morris's  skiff,"  said  Ben  ; 
"  my  canoe  is  too  small  for  us.  These  hooks  and 
lines  of  yourn,  Master  Buck,  is  too  small  for  our 
waters  here  below  the  falls  ;  big  fish  come  up  here 
out  on  the  Ohio,  and  into  that  from  the  Massassip- 
pi  River,  I  guess;  and  these  long,  light  poles  ain't 
of  no  use,  except  to  kotch  black  perch,  red-eyes, 
red-horses,  and  the  like  ;  the  hand-line  is  the  thing 
fit  to  kotch  fish  that  ought  to  be  tuck  out  on  the 
water,  sich  as  mud-cats,  buffalo  perch  and  buffalo 
suckers,  shovel-noses,  and  sturgeons.  Thar's  some 
mity  big  blue-cats,  too,  I  tell  ye,  come  up  here  in 
the  spring." 

"  Well,"  said  William  Henry,  "  we'll  take  ours 
along  to  catch  black  perch,  or  bass,  as  you  call 
them.,  when  they  are  big,  for  Uncle  Tom  has  caught 
us  a  fine  bucket  of  minnows  for  bait ;  and  you  may 
catch  the  big  fish,  Ben.  What  bait  have  you  got  1" 

"  Squirrels,"  said  Ben  ;  "  but  arter  I  ketch  one 
catfish,  I  uses  his  maw  for  bait;  it's  the  best  and 
the  toughest  you  can  git  for  cats.  They  are  mity 
fond  of  beef's  liver,  but  it  ain't  tough  enough  ;  you 
lose  a  bait  for  most  every  fish  you  ketch." 

"  I  catch  fine  black  perch  in  New  River  that 
weigh  two  pounds,"  said  Buck,  "with  grasshop- 
pers and  crickets,  though  the  live  minnow  is  the 
best  bait  for  them,  and  red-eyes  and  red-horses 
too.  But  the  big  bass  often  break  my  lines,  and 
run  off  like  a  wild  horse.  But  we'll  fix  'em  now, 
won't  we,  Bearbreeches  1  Look  here,  Uncle  Ben," 
and  Buck  took  out  of  his  pockets  two  large  cotton 
spools,  to  which  he  had  adjusted  axes  made  of  an 
old  spindle  of  a  common  cotton  spinning-wheel  ; 
one  end  of  the  axis  w%s  made  fast  to  a  flat  slip  of 
iron  hoop,  which  he  tied  to  the  pole,  about  eighteen 
inches  from  the  butt-end.  He  had  used  up  at  least 


THE    RESCUE.  245 

half  a  dozen  of  Matilda's  knitting-needle*  in  ma- 
king staples,  which  were  driven  into  the  pole  at 
intervals  of  two  feet  from  his  spool  to  the  small 
end  of  the  pole  :  through  these  he  passed  the  line 
from  his  spool,  leaving  on  it  about  fifty  yards  of 
line. 

Ben  looked  at  him  very  attentively  and  pitying- 
ly, and  said, 

"  L  'spose  you  got  that  out  on  some  book.  It 
looks  like  a  book-larned  fixin'.  It  tain't  of  no  use 
in  the  woods  nor  the  waters.  Tain't  books,  but 
natur,  that  teaches  the  raal  'strogomy,  arter  all, 
Master  Will,  and  not  your  sort,  nuther." 

"  I  did  get  the  notion  out  of  a  book,  Uncle  Ben," 
said  Buck,  "  and  I  think  it  will  answer,  too.  When 
I  hang  a  strong  fish,  instead  of  his  breaking  my 
hook  or  line,  I'll  let  him  run,  you  see,  under  a  pull 
not  so  tight  as  to  break  anything,  and  whenever  he 
slackens  or  tires,  I'll  wind  up  just  so ;"  and  Buck 
rolled  up  his  line  on  the  spool  to  exemplify  the  op- 
eration. 

"  Yer  line  ain't  in  the  water  with  a  big  fish  hung 
to  it,"  said  Ben,  shaking  his  head. 

"We'll  put  it  to  the  proof,"  said  Buck. 

"  That's  the  way  to  larn,  I  agree,"  said  Ben,  "  so 
come  along." 

Ben's  hooks  and  lines  were  as  large  as  a  com- 
mon goose-quill.  "Bait  one  of  these,"  said  he, 
"  with  a  quarter  or  half  a  squirrel,  and  let  the  fish 
have  time  to  swaller  it ;  and  then  pull  him  in  wheth- 
er or  no,  and  give  him  the  gig.  That's  the  way  to 
ketch  fish  with  a  hook  and  line.  Why,  these  pick- 
aninny playthings  o'  yourn  ain't  of  no  account." 

"  We'll  see,  we'll  see,"  said  Buck,  his  eyes 
sparkling  with  pleasure  at  the  idea  of  playing  a  fish 
with  his  new  tackle. 

The  truth  is,  Buck  was  not  playing  an  exactly 
fair  game  with  Uncle  Bwi ;  for  he  had  been  using 
precisely  such  a  tackle  for  the  last  month  at  home 
with  great  success,  and  he  was  inwardly  chuckling 


2*fi  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

at  the  unfair  advantage  he  was  taking.  He  had  im- 
parted the  whole  matter  to  William  Henry,  and  begged 
him  to  keep  it  a  s'ecret  from  Ben,  as  he  wanted  to  sur- 
prise him  with  something  new  in  his  own  craft. 

Away  they  went  to  the  river,  not  a  hundred  yards 
from  the  house.  They  soon  rowed  to  the  neighbour- 
hood of  the  falls,  Ben's  favourite  fishing-ground  (or 
water?).  "Let's  try  here,"  said  he,  "at  the  dead 
limbs  of  this  tree  lyin'  in  the  water.  Fish  love  such 
places,  'specially  if  there's  a  shelvin'  rock  under  the 
limbs." 

They  rowed  very  gently  up,  and  tied  the  boat  to  the 
limb  of  the  tree,  projecting  from  the  water  ;  the  greater 
part  of  the  limbs  were  under  the  water.  Ben  took  his 
seat  in  the  stern,  baited  with  squirrel,  and  threw  out 
near  the  boat;  the  boys,  as  he  called  them,  went  for- 
ward, baited  with  live  minnows,  and  threw  out  as  far 
as  they  could  towards  the  channel.  They  had  hardly 
seated  themselves,  when  a  line  was  heard  whizzing 
through  the  water,  and,  looking  up,  saw  William  Hen- 
ry's cork  disappearing,  and  his  line  running  oiT  his 
spool  rapidly.  It  stopped. 

"  Don't  strike,"  said  Buck  ;  "  give  him  time  to  turn 
the  minnow,  and  he'll  be  off  again.  Now  he  goes  ; 
give  it  to  him,  Bearbreeches.  Hah  !  he's  got  it ;  give 
him  line,  with  a  tight  rub,  and  let  him  go." 

Away  went  the  fish,  until  he  was  at  least  forty  yards 
from  them. 

"  Wind  him  up,"  cried  Buck,  "  slowly  and  gently  ; 
but  whenever  he's  coltish,  let  him  go  again ;  he'll  soon 
tire  with  such  a  bit  in  his  mouth.  See  that — he  jump- 
ed quite  out  of  the  water ;  now  he  comes — wind  him 
up  ;  here  he  comes,  very  unwillingly. 

'  Take  your  time,  Miss  Lucy  Long, 
Take  your  time,  Miss  Lucy,' " 

sung  Buck.  "  Now  he  goes  again — give  him  line. 
He'll  be  tired  of  that  gentle  strain  upon  his  minnow- (rap 
very  soon,  I'll  warrant,  ^fhe  line  slacks  —  roll  up. 
Oho,  here  he  comes,  as  quiet  as  a  sullen  dog  with  a 
ropo  round  his  neck.  Give  me  the  gig,  Uncle  Ben. 


THE    RESCUE.  247 

Here  he  is,  close  enough."  Sluck  went  the  gaff,  and 
Buck  raised  into  the  boat  a  five-pound  bass.  "  There, 
now,"  said  he, turning  to  Ben,  "that's  the  way  to  coax 
a  ticklebender  with  a  nice  little  line  and  hook  and  an 
elastic  rod.  That's  the  art  of  elegant  fishing.  By 
Jove,  I've  got  a  bite."  He  dropped  the  gig  and  fish 
into  the  boat,  which  William  Henry  seized,  and  raising 
his  pole  from  the  rowlock,  straightened  the  line  ;  away 
went  the  fish,  carrying  the  cork  so  deep  that  it  could 
not  be  seen  beneath  the  clear  blue  water. 

"  Strike,"  said  Ben. 

"  No,  not  yet,  if  it's  a  bass,"  said  Buck ;  "  he'll  sure- 
ly stop  and  go  again ;  then's  the  time  to  hook  him. 
I'm  used  to  them,  and  know  how  they  manage ;  I've 
watched  them  in  the  clear  water.  When  they  see  a 
minnow  near,  they  dart  at  him ;  he  turns  to  fly ;  they 
seize  him  so  soon  as  they  get  near  enough — of  course 
by  his  tail,  and  dash  off  with  him  like  a  hog  with  an 
ear  of  corn — then  stop — turn  him — swallow  him  head 
foremost,  and  are  off  again.  Now  he's  off."  Twang, 
sounded  the  line.  "  I've  hooked  him — go  it,  you  crip- 
ple." Away  went  the  fish,  till  nearly  all  Buck's  line 
was  exhausted.  On  being  slightly  checked,  the  fish 
tacked,  and  ran  right  under  the  brush.  li  Now  he 
thinks  he's  at  home,"  said  Buck.  "  Come  out,  you 
beauty,"  gently  pulling  at  him  till  the  upper  part  of  his 
pole  formed  a  curve.  Off  went  the  fish  again,  away 
into  the  current,  but  evidently  relaxing  his  exertions. 
"  Get  the  gig  ready,  William  ;  here  he  comes,  the  lark. 
No,  he's  gone  again,  and  see,  trying  to  shake  the  hook 
out  of  his  mouth.  See  how  the  line  sways  and  sways, 
this  way  and  that.  Now  he  comes  as  easily  as  a 
shingle  ;  there  he  is — give  him  the  gaff." 

"Another  five-pounder — larger  than  mine,  Buck," 
said  William  Henry,  raising  the  fish  into  the  skiff. 
"  What  do  you  think  now,  Uncle  Ben,  of  our  pickanin- 
ny hooks  and  lines  and  book-learning  ?" 

"  They'll  do,"  said  Ben,  who  had  been  watching  with 
earnest  attention  this  mode  of  fishing,  so  new  to  him. 
"  It's  a  'cute  contrivance  to  make  the  weak  overcome 


248  NEW   HOPE  ;.  OK, 

the  strong.  That  didn't  come  out  on  a  book  at  fust. 
Some  man  tried  it  fust,  and  arter  he  found  by  experi- 
ence t'would  do,  'he  then  put  it  thar." 

"  That  is  true,  I  have  no  doubt,"  said  William  Hen- 
ry ;  "  and  it  is  a  pity  that  all  books  on  practical  sub- 
jects are  not  written  in  that  way." 

"  Ben,  your  line  is  sneaking  out,"  said  Buck.  "  Let's 
see  what  you'll  catch." 

"  That's  a  cat,"  said  Ben  ;  "  they  go  off  in  that  way. 
Give  him  time,  and  he'll  be  sure  to  swaller  the  bait  if 
his  mouth  is  big  enough — and  them  fish  has  mouths 
as  big  as  Congressmen,  and  all  but  as  foul." 

He  was  soon  tugging  at  the  line,  and  Ben  hauled  in 
by  main  force,  without  even  relaxing  or  giving  out  one 
inch  of  line,  till  he  dragged  the  fish  to  the  side  of  the 
boat,  wrapped  the  line  around  a  rowlock,  and  drove 
the  spear  into  the  head  of  the  struggling  catfish,  which, 
we  supposed,  weighed  ten  or  twelve  pounds.  This 
fish  was  of  a  bluish  lead  colour,  and  whitish  under- 
neath, longer  and  rounder,  with  a  smaller  head  than  the 
common  catfish.  It  is  known  as  the  blue  or  channel-cat. 

Some  lime  now  elapsed  without  their  getting  a  bite, 
and  they  moved  up  nearer  to  the  foot  of  the  falls,  and 
stuck  down  an  oar  in  the  mud,  in  an  eddy  about  two 
fathoms  deep,  on  its  edge  nearest  the  shore.  Here 
they  caught  fifteen  or  sixteen  black  perch,  as  many 
red-eyes,  which  bite  at  the  minnow  as  fiercely  as  the 
black  perch,  and  Ben  hauled  in  one  channel-cat  and 
three  yellow  or  mud-cats,  and  a  buffalo  perch,  largei 
than  any  fish  which  had  yet  been  caught  by  the  party. 
William  Henry  and  Arbuckle,  though,  had  missed 
several  bites,  and  one  fish  had  broken  away  from  the 
former  by  running  under  the  boat. 

"  Let  me  try  yer  art,"  said  Ben  to  Arbuckle,  "  and 
you  set  here  and  watch  the  Congressmen.  Give  'em 
time,  and  they  are  sure  to  sneak  off  with  what  they  can 
git.  Their  mouths  are  big  enough  to  take  in  anything 
that's  offered,  but  they  never  let  out  anything  but  froth 
and  wind.  Wherever  you  see  the  bubbles  risin',  thai 
lies  a  Congressman  in  the  mud  on  the  bottom." 


THE    RESCUE.  249 

William  Henry  smiled  at  Ben's  quaint  notions  of 
resemblance  between  mud-cats  and  members  of  Con- 
gress, but  he  did  not  think  them  entirely  just.  Be- 
sides, he  knew  that  the  mud-cats  loved  and  lived  in 
deep  waters,  not  in  shoals  and  shallows.  There  the 
resemblance  failed,  he  thought ;  yet  he  believed  that 
there  were  some  odd  fish  on  land  as  well  as  in  the 
water,  and  some  of  these  might  be  found  in  Congress 
very  different  from  most  of  the  small  fry  that  contrive 
to  wriggle  themselves  into  that  pool — no  Bethesda  in 
its  properties,  we  fear. 

Arbuckle  handed  his  fishing-rod  to  Ben,  and  seated 
himself  in  the  stern  of  the  boat.  Ben  selected  a  large, 
lively  minnow,  passed  the  hook  through  the  upper  lip, 
and  threw  out  beyond  the  prow  of  the  boat,  into  the  edge 
of  the  wave  thrown  up  by  the  falls.  'The  minnow  play- 
ed about  as  if  he  had  been  at  liberty,  and  the  cork  spun 
round  and  round  among  the  bubbles,  floating  far  away 
on  the  troubled  surface.  A  break  was  seen,  and  the 
minnow  began  to  hurry  away — too  late — down  went 
the  cork,  and  the  line  whistled  through  the  water  as  it 
cut  its  way  across  the  stream.  Ben's  reel  revolved 
with  the  whizzing  sound  of  a  spinning-wheel,  though 
his  thumb  was  pressed  tightly  upon  it.  Away  went 
the  fish,  and  the  pole  was  so  much  curved  by  the 
stress  on  it,  that  William  Henry  cried  out, 

"  Take  care,  Ben,  or  something  will  give  way." 

But  Ben  played  him  admirably,  and  in  about  fifteen 
minutes  had  the  satisfaction  of  drawing  to  the  side  of 
the  boat  a  very  fine  salmon. 

William  Henry  speared  the  fish,  and  took  it  into  the 
boat.  "Now,  Ben,"  said  he,  "this  delicate  little  line 
would  not  bear  the  weight  of  that  fish,  you  see,  yet 
you  caught  him  with  it  by  good  management." 

"True,"  said  Ben;  "live  and  larn.  This  here 
givin'  line,  seemin'  to  give  up  while  you  hold  on,  is  a 
great  art — equal  to  a  weak  woman's  gettin'  the  upper- 
hand  of  a  strong  man.  They  seem  to  give  up,  but 
never  let  go.  That's  the  trick,  it  is." 

While  this  conversation  was  going  on.  they  saw 
11 


250  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

Buck,  who  had  been  looking  and  listening,  seize 
Ben's  hand-line,  which  he  had  wrapped  round  the 
tiller,  jerk  it  loose, 'and  tug  and  pull  in  vain  ;  out  went 
the  line,  in  spite  of  the  exertion  of  all  his  strength. 

"  Run  here,  Ben  ;  he's  too  strong  for  me." 

Ben  seized  the  line,  and  they  both  pulled,  but  still 
the  line  ran  out  rapidly. 

"  Pull  up  the  oar,"  cried  Ben  to  William  Henry. 

But  there  was  no  occasion,  for  the  fish,  or  whatever 
it  was,  had  already  pulled  it  up,  and  William  Henry 
had  barely  time  to  lean  over  and  grasp  it  as  the  boat 
got  under  way,  stern  foremost,  and  moved  rapidly  into 
the  mid  channel,  and  down  the  river.  Away  they 
went  at  a  killing  pace,  hurried  on  by  an  unseen,  un- 
known courser. 

"  Take  the  eend  of  the  line,  Master  Will,"  said 
Ben,  "  and  make  fast  to  the  ring  in  the  peak,  and  let 
her  veer  round." 

So  suddenly  did  the  boat  turn,  that  they  were  very 
near 'being  capsized.  "Now,"  said  Ben,  "we  may 
give  him  all  the  line  we've  got.  The  longer  the  tra- 
ces, the  harder  the  draught,  you  know.  We'll  soon 
see  what  he  can  do." 

"  What  can  it  be,  Ben  1"  said  William  Henry. 

"  I  don't  know,"  replied  Ben  ;  "  but  a  big,  strong 
fish,  or  somethin',  for  he's  makin'  right  down  the  river 
in  the  channel — gwine  to  the  Ohio,  I  b'leve,  whar  he 
come  from." 

"  Hurrah !"  said  Buck.  "  Go  it,  Flying  Childers. 
We'll  pay  Aunt  Arbuckle  a  visit,  if  you'll  only  keep 
on  long  enough,  and  then  down  to  Colonel  Lewis's,  at 
the  Point.  Let  me  shake  the  reins  over  him,  and  see 
what  he'll  do." 

Saying  this,  Buck  took  the  line,  and  drew  in  about 
ten  feet.  The  creature  seemed  to  be  alarmed,  and  re- 
doubled its  exertions.  "  Look  at  that,  William.  Now 
he  goes  in  style  ;  if  we  only  had  him  tame  or  confined 
somewhere  so  that  we  could  use  him  when  we  wanted, 
what  rides  we  could  have — good  gracious  !  such  a  boat 
I  would  have  for  him,  and  such  harness  !  Wheugh !" 


THE    RESCUE.  251 

"  Hold  on  to  the  line,  and  ease  it  out,  Buck,"  said 
Ben,  "or  he'll  snap  it." 

"  No  danger,"  said  Buck ;  "  it  will  hold  a  buffalo,  I 
believe.  Whatever  it  was,  it  evidently  chose  the  deep- 
est water,  for  it  followed  the  windings  of  the  channel, 
and  increased  its  speed  to  fearful  rapidity  in  passing 
every  shoal  and  shallow." 

„  "  Hellow  !"  cried  Mr.  Buffher,  who,  with  Colonel 
Clendennin,  was  riding  on  the  bank  of  the  river ; 
"  what's  to  pay  there,  boys  ?" 

"  Breaking  a  Kanawha  colt  to  harness,"  answered 
Buck.  "  Don't  he  pull  finely  ?" 

"  What  is  it,  Ben  ?"  said  Mr.  Buffner. 

"  We  don't  know,  squire ;  somethin'  that  we  hung 
in  fishin'  at  the  falls.  We've  never  seed  the  creetur 
yit." 

"  Why,  it  must  be  a  stray  alligator,  or  the  devil,  from 
the  rate  he  goes,"  said  Colonel  Clendennin.  "  Good-by. 
See  here !  if  you  are  bound  down  the  Ohio,  call  at  my 
house  below  the  mouth  of  the  Kanawha,  and  get  your 
suppers." 

Away  they  went  down  the  river,  while  the  colonel 
and  Mr.  Buffner  rode  on  up  to  the  falls.  Buck  was 
now  dancing  in  the  boat,  clapping  his  hands,  shouting, 
and  singing,  and  William  Henry  laughing  outright  at 
the  antics  of  the  boy.  Ben  sat  still,  every  now  and 
then  pulling  at  the  line. 

"  That's  it,  Ben — rouse  him  up,"  cried  Buck.  "  Go  it, 
Childers — go  it,  my  darling  ;  by  Jove,  he's  a  rusher." 

They  now  got  into  a  deep,  still  pool.  The  line 
slackened,  and  the  boat  moved  slower  and  slower,  till 
it  stood  still. 

"  Oho !"  said  Buck,  "  you  are  getting  enough,  are 
you,"  and  he  began  to  draw  in  the  line. 

The  boat  dashed  off  again,  but  instead  of  going 
straight  forward,  it  circled  round  in  the  deep  water, 
and  again  stood  still.  Ben  now  pulled  at  the  line,  and 
again  they  made  the  circuit  of  the  deep  basin. 

"  This  is  your  stable,  is  it  ?"  said  Buck.  "  You  want 
a  bed,  I  reckon.  Well,  I'll  see  ;"  and,  stripping  off  his 


252  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

dollies,  he  plunged  into  the  water,  and  out  of  sight  be- 
neath it. 

"  That  boy's  runn'd  mad,  I  b'leve,"  said  Ben.  "  Did 
you  ever  see  the  like  o'  that  ?" 

"  Never,"  replied  William  Henry  ;  "  he  fears  nothing 
in  this  world." 

"  No,  nor  t'other  nuther,"  said  Ben. 

"  Here  he  comes  up.  Hold  hard,"  said  William 
Henry,  "  or  he'll  have  to  swim  ashore,  for  the  boat's 
off  again." 

Buck  rose  from  the  deep  water,  and  shaking  his 
dripping  hair  like  a  water-dog,  raised  his  hands, 
clapped  them  above  his  head,  and  cried  out, 

"  He's  a  whopper,  I  tell  you,  lying  on  the  bottom, 
and  panting  like  a  blacksmith's  bellows.  Keep  him 
agoing,  or  we  shall  never  get  him." 

"  What  is  it  ?"  asked  William  Henry. 

"A  yellow  cat,"  said  Buck,  "as  big  as  me,  and  a 
mouth  as  wide  as  a  wolf-trap.  Keep  tugging,  if  you 
don't  want  to  see  the  battle-ground  at  the  point." 

Buck  reached  and  got  into  the  boat,  and  instantly 
began  to  pull  at  the  line. 

"  Put  on  yer  clothes,  boy,  or  you'll  blister  your  back," 
said  Ben. 

While  Buck  was  dressing,  the  boat  was  slowly 
moving  around  the  deep  water,  and  Ben  and  William 
Henry  had  drawn  in  more  than  half  the  line.  "  Here, 
boys,"  said  Buck,  "  haul  in  steady,  and  give  me  the 

gig-" 

Several  times  the  line  would  run  out  in  spite  of 

them ;  but  at  last  the  head  of  the  monster,  with  his 
broad,  flat  face  and  staring  eyes,  was  seen  near  the 
boat,  and  Ben  drove  the  trident  up  to  the  handle  in  his 
head,  but  it  was  jerked  out  of  his  hand.  The  fish  was 
in  his  last  agony,  and  they  dragged  him  up ;  and  Ben 
got  hold  of  the  handle  of  the  gig,  and  turned  him  upon 
his  side,  but  could  not  raise  him  up ;  and  although 
they  made  several  efforts,  they  did  not  get  him  into 
the  boat  till  they  doubled  one  of  Ben's  lines,  and 
slipped  it  over  his  tail  and  up  to  his  shoulders ;  and 


THE    RESCUE.  253 

even  then  they  were  near  capsizing  the  boat  as  they 
got  him  aboard. 

"  Here  you  are,  my  noble,  flat-faced  fellow,"  said 
Buck.  "  How  much  will  he  weigh,  Bearbreeches  ?" 

"  A  hundred  pounds,  at  least,"  replied  William 
Henry. 

"More  nor  that,"  said  Ben,  "for  he's  near  six  foot 
long — more  than  double  as  big  as  any  I  ever  kotch'd  in 
this  river  afore,  and  I've  killed  many  that  overwent 
fifty  pounds." 

Thus  ended  their  fishing.  As  they  were  rowing 
down  to  New  Hope,  William  Henry  said  this  frolic 
with  the  cat  reminded  him  of  a  circumstance  some- 
what similar  that  happened  on  the  Potomac. 

"  Tell  us  all  about  it,"  said  Buck. 

"  Two  gentlemen,"  said  William  Henry,  "  one  of 
them  a  sea-captain,  and  the  other  a  young  gentleman  of 
King  George  county,  went  out  in  a  yawl  to  fish  for  drum 
just  below  the  mouth  of  Potomac  Creek,  which,  at  its 
mouth,  unites  with  Accokeeke,  and  spreads  into  a 
sheet  of  water  near  a  mile  wide  below  Marlborough 
Point.  But  this  is  so  beautiful  and  picturesque  a  lo- 
cality, that  I  must  attempt  to  describe  it  to  you  before 
I  proceed  with  the  fishing  story — which  is  no  fish 
story,  but  actually  true.  If  you  go  to  Old  Virginia, 
Arbuckle,  you  must  visit  the  place  I  am  speaking  of, 
and  see  it  with  your  own  eyes.  Travers's  Neck,  a 
narrow  slip  of  land  between  Potomac  Creek  and  Acco- 
keeke, terminates  at  their  junction  in  a  hill  so  high  it 
may  be  called  a  promontory,  though  at  its  foot  there  is 
a  level  plain  of  some  acres,  where  sleep  the  ashes  of 
the  honoured  dead.  The  seat  of  a  Virginia  gentleman 
is  perched  upon  the  verge  of  that  hill,  and  facing  the 
river  to  the  east,  the  prospect  spreads  out  before  it. 
Let  us,  in  imagination,  Arbuckle,  enter  the  portico  of 
that  hospitable  mansion — sit  down,  and  enjoy  the 
beauties  of  the  scene.  To  our  right,  and  stretched  out 
at  our  feet,  the  still  clear  waters  of  Potomac  Creek, 
nearly  a  mile  wide,  repose,  reflecting  the  dark  shadows 
of  the  wooded  cliffs  on  the  opposite  shore.  On  our 


r  . 


254  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

left,  and  nearly  parallel  to  the  Potomac  River  itself, 
winds  Accokeeke  Creek,  like  a  broad  band  of  silver. 
Raise  your  eyes,  and  they  rest  upon  a  chain  of  hills 
stretching  out  between  the  creek  and  the  river,  which 
is  seen  through  the  breaks  in  the  hills,  giving  to  the 
hills  the  appearance  of  islands.  See  the  ships,  with 
their  snowy  sails,  in  the  river,  as  they  suddenly  ap- 
pear and  disappear  through  those  gaps  in  the  hills, 
like  objects  passing  before  a  camera  obscura.  Now 
look  more  to  the  right,  on  the  flat  extremity  of  Marl- 
borough  Neck — see  that  windmill,  with  its  broad  vanes 
revolving  and  glittering  in  the  sun,  and  that  deep  green, 
conical  holly-tree.  Here  is  the  spyglass — look  at  its 
polished,  prickly  leaves,  each  one  ending  in  a  tiny 
spear,  and  its  profusion  of  red  berries — what  a  con- 
trast! Look  still  farther  to  the  right,  on  the  level 
point — that  is  Marlborough  House.  By-the-way,  the 
bricks  for  that  house  were  brought  from  London,  and 
the  stone  pavement  for  the  porticoes  from  Portland,  in 
the  days  when  wheat-bread  was  called  English  bread, 
and  the  gray  thrush  or  mocking-bird  the  English  Mock- 
ing, while  the  brown  thrush,  which  does  not  sing  so 
sweetly,  was  called  the  French  Mocking.  Now  look 
a  little  more  to  the  right.  What  a  glorious  expanse  of 
water,  where  the  creeks  roll  their  united  volumes  into 
the  river  below  Ferry  Point !  Look  obliquely  across 
the  river — that  point  that  you  see  is  Maryland  Point, 
more  than  seven  miles  off.  Oh !  that  stately  ship  be- 
low the  point,  spreading  her  snowy  bosom  to  the 
breeze  !  How  slowly  she  grows  upon  our  sight ;  yet 
the  wind  is  fresh  and  fair  upon  her  quarter ;  she  is 
running  up  at  the  rate  of  nine  knots  the  hour.  Now 
look  up  the  river — ten,  fixteen,  twenty  miles  of  bright 
water;  and  there's  a  boat  coming  down.  Give  me 
the  glass.  Boat  indeed !  it's  an  American  frigate. 
Here,  use  the  glass ;  see  her  taper  spars  and  stately 
masts — she  looks  like  a  sparrow-hawk  cutting  the  air. 
Oh !  I  understand  now  the  booming  sound  which  we 
heard  wafted  upon  the  waters,  that  seemed  to  follow 
the  course  of  the  majestic  river.  That  ship-of-war 


THE    RESCUE.  255 

was  passing  Mount  Vernon :  'twas  cannon's  roar 
Fit  honour  to  the  first  of  heroes  and  patriots.  Let 
us  now  descend  from  this  lofty  eminence  to  the  mar 
gin  of  the  marsh  on  Accokeeke  : 

"  '  Beneath  those  rocks  the  violet  reposes ; 
O'er  that  tail  cliff"  the  lily  hangs  her  head ; 
Their  fragrance  here  betrays  the  blushing  roses ; 
And  snow-drops  there  beneath  the  thorn  are  spread.' 

" '  Here,  at  evening's  pensive  hour, 
When  western  breezes  fann'd  the  air, 
Joy,  I've  felt  thy  magic  power, 
And  shed  the  soft,  delicious  tear.' " 

"  Bless  my  soul,"  said  Ben  Bramble,  "  that  ar  place 
you've  been  tellin'  on  is  Crow's  Nest.  I  seed  it  when 
I  went  to  Mr.  Daniel's  fishing  shore  at  Peyton's  Point, 
jest  above  on  the  creek,  and  he  kotch  so  many  rock- 
fish  at  one  haul — at  least  his  niggers  did — that  he  sont 
a  wagon-load  on  'em  to  Richmond  City,  some  on  'em 
all  but  as  big  as  this  cat.  Crow's  Nest  ain't  as  awful 
as  the  Hawk's  Nest  out  here,  but  it's  the  butifullest 
sight  thar  I  ever  seed.  This  river  ain't  nothin'  to  that 
wide  water,  and  yet  they  call  it  a  creek  in  Ole  Vi 
ginny." 


CHAPTER  XXVII. 

"  IT  was  just  below  the  mouth  of  Potomac  Creek, 
which  Ben  has  told  you  is  a  wide  water,  and  in  full 
view  of  the  place  which  we  have  been  describing," 
said  William  Henry,  "that  the  sea-captain  and  his 
young  friend  were  fishing  for  drum.  They  had  an 
awning  over  them,  as  the  weather  was  warm,  and 
under  it  they  were  preparing  to  take  their  dinner, 
for  they  had  caught  several  fine  fish.  So  the  ba- 
con, and  cold  roast-beef,  and  bread,  and  a  bottle  of 
brandy  and  jug  of  water,  were  taken  out  of  the  lock- 
er, when  the  captain  saw  one  of  the  lines  shaking 
as  if  a  drum-fish  was  rubbing  against  it ;  but  the 


256  NEW  HOPE:  OB, 

young  man  had  put  a  piece  of  beef  on  the  hook  of 
that  line.  The  captain  went  forward  and  jerked 
the  line,  and  had  his  own  arm  nearly  jerked  off. 
He,  however,  held  on,  but  the  line  went  through 
his  hand  like  hot  iron,  and  away  went  the  yawl. 
The  stake  to  which  she  was  moored  was  pulled 
up  at  the  first  jerk.  The  boat  leaped  forward  and 
dashed  through  the  water.  The  whole  of  the  line 
had  nearly  run  out,  when  the  young  man  tied  an- 
other line  to  the  end  of  that  which  was  running  out ; 
after  the  knot  had  passed  into  the  water,  the  cap- 
tain said, '  Cut  off  the  hook,  and  pass  the  end  through 
this  iron  ring,  and  hold  on ;  now  let  go,  and  hand 
me  the  hatchet,  for  I  shall  have  to  cut  loose  if  she 
ships  water.  This  is  no  drum,  but  a  regular  sea- 
monster.  See  how  he's  making  for  the  channel ; 
we  shall  be  in  Chesapeake  Bay  before  to-morrow 
morning,  at  this  rate.'  '  You'd  better  cut  loose  at 
once,  then,'  said  the  young  gentleman,  who  did  not 
like  the  idea  of  so  long  a  voyage.  'No,  sir,  I'll 
see  him  in  h — 11  first.  He's  spoiled  my  dinner,  and 
he  shall  pay  for  it.  If  he's  going  his  best  now, 
he'll  come  to  after  a  spell.  We'll  hold  on  at  least 
till  we  pass  that  brig  below.  Haul  down  that  awn- 
ing. The  tide  is  making,  and  it  will  tire  the  devil 
himself  to  run  at  this  rate  long.' 

"  They  were  now  in  the  middle  of  the  river,  and 
the  yawl  was  dashing  through  the  water  with  fear- 
ful velocity.  The  captain,  who  had  been  standing 
all  this  time  with  the  hatchet  in  his  hand,  backed- 
to  the  stern  of  the  boat,  tied  the  rope  to  the  tiller, 
sat  down,  and  said,  '  I'll  wipe  the  sweat  from  my 
face,  and  lake  a  drink  of  grog.  Ah  !'  he  continued, 
taking  the  tumbler  from  his  mouth,  '  she  runs  more 
steadily  now  she's  got  used  to  it,  and  her  head  is 
right  in  the  wind's  eye.  There's  no  danger  of 
shipping  a  sea,  unless  the  devil  that  draws  us 
tacks.'  '  What  do  you  think  it  is,  captain  V  '  Don't 
know,  unless  it's  Davy  Jones  himself.  Take  a  drink, 
sir,  and  we'll  try  to  take  a  haul  upon  him.'  The 


THE    RESCUE.  25 7 

young  man  drank,  and  said,  '  Now,  captain,  I'm 
ready,  but  keep  the  hatchet  ready  too.'  They  at- 
tempted to  pull  in  the  line,  but,  instead  of  succeed- 
ing', it  went  out  rapidly  in  spite  of  them.  'Let 
him  go.  Cheerily,  boy,  cheerily.  He  won't  get 
stronger  pulling  us  against  this  tide.  I  feel  strong- 
er, though.  We'll  give  him  a  shake  every  now  and 
then,  to  rouse  him  up  and  keep  him  agoing.' 

"They  were  now  approaching  the  brig,  and  they 
could  see  the  skipper  with  his  glass  observing 
them — indeed,  he  had  been  doing  so  for  some  time 
with  astonishment — seeing  no  sail  set  and  no  oars 
in  motion,  he  could  not  conceive  what  new  inven- 
tion was  propelling  the  yawl.  At  last  he  took 
down  his  glass  from  his  eye,  and  hailed,  'What 
boat  is  that  V  '  The  Haphazard,'  cried  our  captain. 
'  Where  are  you  bound  V  '  Don't  know — wish  I 
did.'  '  What  the  devil  drives  you  V  '  Don't  know 
— wish  I  did  ;  something  from  below.'  The  whole 
crew  of  the  brig  were  at  the  ship's  side,  looking  on 
with  amazement.  It  was  a  strange  phenomenon 
even  to  sailors,  who  see  many  strange  things.  As 
the  yawl  swept  by  within  twenty  yards  of  the  ship, 
they  heard  one  of  the  crew  say  to  another,  '  Bill, 
ain't  that  a  queer  consarnV  'Ain't  it  V  replied 
Bill.  'D — n  my  eyes  if  I  don't  believe  her  run- 
ning rigging  and  sails  is  in  her  hold,  and  driven  by 
bags  of  wind  bought  of  the  witches  in  Norway. 
She's  a  clipper,  any  how.' 

"  For  twelve  miles  down  the  river  were  they  hur- 
ried along  against  wind  and  tide,  when  they  per- 
ceived the  line  veering  off  to  the  left.  The  cap- 
tain ran  forward,  seized  the  hatchet,  and  stood  by 
the  line  ready  to  sever  it ;  but'the  boat,  after  keel- 
ing over  so  as  nearly  to  bring  her  gunwale  under 
Avater,  righted  at  the  moment  when  the  captain  Avas 
about  to  strike,  and  they  found  themselves  running 
up  the  river  faster,  if  possible,  than  they  had  been 
carried  down.  The  Avind  and  tide  Avere  now  in  fa- 
vour of  their  unseen  cruiser.  'Bravo!'  cried  the 
11* 


258  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

captain ;  '  he's  going  to  try  t'other  tack  now.' 
They  were  evidently  making  rapid  headway,  but 
on  pulling  at  the  line  it  began  to  yield,  and  as  they 
went  on  they  hauled  in  all  the  second  line  and  part 
of  the  first.  The  speed  of  the  yawl  was  diminish- 
ing, and  they  found  themselves  within  less  than  a 
mile  of  their  starting-place.  As  they  continued  to 
tug  at  the  line,  the  prow  of  the  boat  was  turned  to- 
wards the  King  George  shore,  and  their  velocity 
increased  as  they  neared  it ;  nor  did  it  decrease  till 
the  monster  that  drew  them  had  run  up  into  water 
so  shoal  that  he  stuck  fast,  with  his  back  and  head 
exposed  to  full  view.  The  captain  jumped  out,  and 
killed  him  with  the  hatchet.  He  was  so  exhaust- 
ed that  he  made  not  the  slightest  resistance.  It 
was  a  shark,  upward  of  ten  feet  in  length.  Many 
persons  went  to  see  it,  for  it  was  the  largest  that 
had  ever  been  seen  in  the  Potomac  River,  and  it 
would  have  been  dangerous,  Buck,  to  have  gone 
down  into  the  water  to  look  at  him,  as  you  did  at 
this  catfish." 

"I  do  believe,"  said  Buck,  "I  should  have  been 
tempted  to  do  it." 

"That's  the  excuse,"  said  Ben,  "people  always 
has  ready  when  they  wants  to  do  wrong.  They're 
tempted,  Buck.  'Twas  yer  own  desire  that  tempted 
you ;  that's  the  meanin'  of  '•the  deviVs  got  into  me,' 
as  you  hear  people  say.  'Twas  curosity  this  time, 
boy.  The  tree  of  knowledge  don't  always  bar 
good  fruit ;  you'll  find  it  so  if  you  continue  to 
go  you  don't  know  whar,  to  see  you  don't  know 
what." 

As  they  approached  the  shore  opposite  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger's  house,  Buck  called  out  to  Uncle  Tom, 
whom  he  saw  standing  at  the  yard  gate, 

"Hellow!  come  here  and  help  us  carry  this  cat 
fish  to  the  house." 

"I  don'  want  no  help,"  said  Tom,  "to  carry  any 
cat  you  ketch  in  dis  riber,  I  know." 

"  Come  and  take  him,"  said  Buck. 


THE    RESCUE.  259 

Uncle  Tom  moved  briskly  forward  to  the  bank,  then 
suddenly  stopped,  and  said, 

"  Maybe  you  got  a  snake  dar,  Massa  Buckle." 

"  No,  indeed,  Uncle  Tom  ;  I've  had  frolicking  enough 
for  one  day." 

"  Bless  my  soul !"  said  Uncle  Tom,  looking  down 
into  the  boat,  "  dat  is  a  catfish,  sure  enuf.  Whar  did 
you  ketch  him  ?  He's  jest  like  a  Potomuc  Riber  cat, 
only  not  quite  so  big." 

"  Ah  !  Uncle  Tom,"  said  William  Henry,  "  you  are 
like  the  Scotchman,  who  said  that  the  pumpkins  tied 
up  in  the  top  of  a  pear-tree  were  '  vera  fine — vera  fine 
pears  indeed,  but  not  quite  so  large  as  some  he  saw 
in  the  Duke  of  Argyle's  garden.'  You  can't  admit  that 
any  fish  out  here,  or  anything  else,  is  as  large  or  as 
fine  as  in  Old  Virginia." 

"Whar  you  gwine  fin'  out  here,  Massa  Will,  de 
porpusses  an'  de  sharks  in  dis  riber  ?  Why,  when  de 
wind  blows  on  de  Potomuc,  de  porpusses  is  bobbin'  up 
an'  down  like  so  many  'backer  hogsheads.  But  dis 
one,  I  'low,  is  a  famous  cat.  He'll  make  a  pot  o' 
chowder  for  Gineral  Weedon  heself.  But  dese  fresh- 
water fish  don't  taste  like  dem  in  salt  water;  dey  is 
too  fishy  an'  fresh,  an'  taste  slimy-like,  no  matter  how 
you  cook  'um.  Dey  ain't  got  de  smack  ob  de  right  fla- 
bor,  Massa  Buck." 

"  There  is  something  in  what  Uncle  Tom  says,"  re- 
marked Arbuckle.  "  The  black-fish,  sheep's-head,  and 
white  perch  that  I  have  eaten  at  VVilliamsburg  and 
Norfolk  have  a  different  and  finer  flavour  than  any  fish 
I  have  eaten  west  of  the  Alleghany,  though  the  black 
perch  and  silver  skins,  or  new  lights,  are  certainly 
very  fine  pan-fish." 

"  Give  me  a  rock's  head  boiled,"  said  William  Hen- 
ry, "  in  preference  to  all,  Buck." 

"  Lor,  Massa  Will,  don't  talk  'bout  'um  ;  you  make 
my  mouf  water.  An'  den  dar's  de  crabs  an'  oyshters — 
umph!  umpn !  an'  de  canvass-back  ducks,  an'  de  sora 
in  de  mash  'fore  de  frost  comes  in  de  fall  season,  dat 
melts  like  butter  in  de  mouf.  Massa  Buck,  dis  ain't 


260  NEW  HOPE  :  OR, 

no  country  for  a  gemman  to  lib  in,  'cept  de  venison, 
bar  meat,  an'  pigins  ;  hogs,  an'  beef,  an'  turkeys  is  de 
same  ebery  whar ;  an'  hommony  is  hommony,  no  mat- 
ter whar  you  find  it,  if  dey  know  how  to  cook  'im,  an' 
good  at  dat.  But  de  delicusses  is  on  de  bays  an'  big 
salt-water  ribers." 

"  Git  a  fence  rail,  Tom,"  said  Ben  Bramble,  "  and 
we  can  swing  this  cat  atvveen  us,  and  take  him  to  the 
house." 

This  was  done,  and  the  boys  strung  and  carried  up 
the  other  fish  which  they  had  caught.  Ben  left  four 
fine  ones  in  the  boat  for  his  friend  Ben  Morris,  who 
had  lent  him  the  skiff.  Mr.  Ballenger  had  the  curios- 
ity to  weigh  the  cat. 

"  One  hundred  and  twenty-one  pounds,  down  weight," 
said  he,  looking  at  the  notch  on  the  steelyard  beam  ; 
'  the  largest  fish  of  the  kind  I  ever  saw  anywhere." 

The  next  day  Arbuckle  left  New  Hope,  and  he  felt 
sad  at  parting  with  his  new  acquaintances.  Every 
member  of  the  family  was  sorry  to  part  with  him,  but 
as  he  had  promised  his  father  to  return  on  that  day 
they  did  not  urge  him  to  stay  longer ;  a  practice  much 
in  vogue,  and  a  very  bad  one,  that  of  insisting  on  young 
people  breaking  promises  made  to  their  parents,  or 
with  their  consent,  understand  me,  gentle  young  read- 
ers. He  promised,  however,  to  repeat  his  visit  on 
William  Henry's  return  from  a  contemplated  trip  to 
Kentucky,  which  had  grown  from  a  district  of  Vir- 
ginia, in  1792,  after  many  delays  and  difficulties,  into 
an  independent  state  and  a  member  of  the  Union.  Al- 
though it  had  been  an  independent  sovereignty  nearly 
seven  years,  it  was  still  called  by  many  people,  espe- 
cially in  Western  Virginia,  the  district  of  Kentucky  : 
so  hard  is  it  to  change  a  familiar  name. 

Isaac  Forster  had  been  absent  from  home  for  some 
time,  nobody  knew  where  ;  but  this  was  no  novelty. 
Advertisements  offering  rewards  for  the  detection  and. 
apprehension  of  counterfeiters,  and  the  passers  of  spu- 
rious money  and  counterfeit  bank-notes,  appeared  in 
many  places  in  Western  Virginia  and  Kentucky,  and  it 


THE    RESCUE.  201 

became  the  general  impression  that  there  was  a  gang 
of  these  people  in  the  West,  for  there  was  at  that  time 
very  little  bad  money  east  of  the  mountains.  People 
examined  every  piece  of  money  that  was  offered  in 
payment,  and  many  innocent  persons  were  taken  up 
and  tried  for  offences  of  which  they  were  not  guilty. 
The  coins  and  bank-notes  were  executed  with  great 
skill,  and  it  was  really  difficult,  without  resorting  to 
the  test  of  specific  gravity,  to  distinguish  the  good 
money  from  the  bad.  Our  readers  will  be  at  no  loss 
as  to  the  manufacturers  of  these  substitutes  for  money. 
Honest  men  had  ignorantly  received  them  and  igrio- 
rantly  passed  them  away ;  others,  who  had  received 
them  without  any  knowledge  of  their  worthlessness, 
not  over  scrupulous,  and  unwilling  to  submit  to  loss, 
also  passed  them  off,  and  they  actually  constituted  a 
large  portion  of  the  currency. 

Richard  Winter,  alias  Joe  Swinton,  had  been,  du- 
ring the  winter  (this  fact  was  afterward  ascertained), 
to  Philadelphia,  with  letters  of  introduction  to  some  of 
the  most  distinguished  citizens  of  the  city,  represent- 
ing him  us  a  man  of  science  lately  from  Europe.  So 
highly  was  he  spoken  of  in  these  letters  (which  were 
afterward  discovered  to  be  forgeries)  as  a  gentleman 
and  most  accomplished  chemist,  that  he  moved  in  the 
highest  circles,  and  wanted  but  one  vote  of  being  ap- 
puinted  professor  of  chemistry  in  a  Northern  university. 
If  is  handsome  face  and  charming  whiskers,  too,  were 
in  great  demand  at  the  fashionable  parties  ;  and  even 
the  pretty  Quaker  girls  were  quite  delighted  with  them. 
The  real  object  of  his  trip  was  to  visit  the  Mint,  and  to 
obtain  the  autographs  of  certain  bank  officers  and  sun- 
dry materials  of  his  trade — chemicals,  &c.,  &c.  Be- 
fore he  left  the  city,  however,  he  presented  a  bill  of 
i  \i  h;uige,  purporting  to  be  drawn  by  well-known  mer- 
chants in  London  on  a  house  in  Philadelphia,  for  three 
htindrrd  and  fifty  pounds  sterling.  The  signatures  were 
ri«fht  (apparently),  and  the  money  was  paid  to  Richard 
Winter,  Esq.  The  Philadelphia  merchants  were  af- 
terward informed  by  their  London  correspondents  that 


262  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

they  knew  no  such  person  as  Richard  Winter,  and  had 
never  drawn  in  his  favour ;  yet,  when  the  forged  bill 
was  afterward  transmitted  to  them,  they  declared  their 
belief  that  the  signatures  were  either  their  own,  or  im- 
itations of  them  not  to  be  distinguished  by  the  most 
careful  examination  ;  but,  as  there  was  no  entry  of  any 
such  transaction  on  their  books,  they  were  compelled 
to  pronounce  them  forgeries.  Their  true  signatures, 
we  must  inform  our  readers,  were  signed  to  certain 
deeds  which  had  been  in  the  possession  of  Isaac  For- 
ster.  Nobody  in  Kanawha  knew  when  Joe  Swinton 
went  to  Philadelphia,  when  he  returned,  or  where  he 
lived.  When  in  the  West,  he  certainly  did  live  a  very 
retired  life,  and  rarely  appeared  in  public,  and  then  al- 
ways as  a  traveller.  The  truth  is,  he  was  as  much 
esteemed  by  Mr.  Forster,  and  a  few  others  who  knew 
him  tolerably  well,  for  his  domestic  habits  as  for  his 
private  virtues.  His  works  were  much  better  known 
than  he  was,  and  he  would  have  been  pleased  to  think 
that  his  left  hand  did  not  know  what  his  right  did.  In 
conversing  with  Mr.  Ballenger  and  William  Henry 
about  the  proposed  trip  of  the  latter  to  Kentucky  to 
see  his  father's  land,  Ben  Bramble  said, 

"  Tricks  are  played  in  showin'  lands.  I've  lanit 
from  Nat  Colly  that  thar's  better  land  on  that  tract  in 
the  Loop  than  we  seed ;  and  whar  thar  are  squatters — 
thar's  one  thar — they  don't  want  the  raal  owner  to  see 
the  good  land  or  larn  its  value.  If  I  mought  be  so 
bold  as  to  advise,  let  nobody  in  this  neighbourhood 
know  when  or  whar  Master  Will  is  a  goin' ;  and  let 
him  be  sure  he  carries  good  money  to  travel  on,  for  I 
hear  half  the  money  goin»  will  put  a  man  in  jail  for 
pay  in'  it." 

A  few  days  afterward  it  was  currently  reported  in 
that  neighbourhood  that  William  Henry  Ballenger  was 
going  to  Old  Virginia.  How  that  report  got  into  cir- 
culation was  never  known,  for  none  of  Mr.  Ballenger's 
family  had  ever  hinted  such  a  thing.  William,  it  is 
true,  had  laughingly  said  to  his  sister,  in  the  presence 
of  Uncle  Tom  and  of  Ben  Bramble,  we  believe, "  When 


THE   RESCUE.  203 

I  go  to  Old  Virginia  for  the  old  boots  I  left  there,  I'll 
try  to  bring  that  beau  you  left  behind,  Mattie."  The 
report  was,  however,  confirmed  in  the  minds  of  the 
neighbours  by  the  fact  that,  when  he  did  set  out.  late 
in  the  evening,  he  took  the  road  leading  to  Old  Vir- 
ginia, and  crossed  the  river  below  the  falls  into  the 
Loop.  He  and  his  father  thought  Ben  Bramble's  ad- 
vice so  good,  that  William  Henry  determined  to  profit 
by  it,  and  thereupon  took  the  time  and  road  mentioned  ; 
but  as  soon  as  it  was  dark,  he  turned  down  the  river 
and  rode  all  night,  taking  care  to  stop  at  no  house 
where  he  was  known.  He  expected  to  be  absent  till 
July,  and  carried  with  him  plots  of  the  lands  and  a 
power  of  attorney  to  sell,  subject  to  the  lease  of  Mr. 
Forster,  which  would  expire  in  October.  He  had  also 
letters  of  introduction  to  several  gentlemen  with  whom 
his  father  was  acquainted  ;  among  the  rest,  one  to  Mr. 
Richard  Terrell,  of  Jefferson  county,  Kentucky,  who 
had  removed  from  the  Old  Dominion  not  very  long  be- 
fore. 

Nothing  occurred  to  him  worth  mentioning  till  he 
arrived  at  the  mouth  of  Big  Sandy,  and  had  climbed 
the  steep  and  muddy  bank  of  the  Kentucky  shore.  He 
had  scarcely  seated  himself  in  the  tavern  on  the  bank, 
when  he  saw  a  gentleman,  accompanied  by  a  servant, 
coming  down  to  the  river  on  the  same  road  over  which 
he  had  just  passed.  They  crossed  over,  rode  up  to  the 
house,  and  dismounted.  On  entering,  the  gentleman 
saluted  William  Henry  very  courteously.  He  was  a 
short,  thick-set  man,  rather  corpulent,  with  a  short 
neck,  and  benevolent,  expressive  cast  of  countenance, 
indicating  a  sanguine  temperament  and  great  good  na- 
ture. His  eyes  were  remarkably  intelligent,  and  full 
of  vivacity.  His  dress,  though  of  the  best  materials 
then  worn  by  gentlemen,  sat  on  him  in  rather  a  slov- 
enly manner.  He  was  a  man  who  neither  formed  his 
opinions  of  others  by  their  dress,  nor  expected  other 
men  to  form  theirs  of  bim  from  external  appearances  ; 
that  was  evident  from  the  way  in  which  he  wore  his 
clothes.  He  seemed  to  be  very  warm  from  riding  in 


264  NEW    HOPE  ;    OK, 

the  sun,  as  well  as  fatigued  ;  for  he  unbuttoned  his 
waistcoat  from  top  to  bottom,  stretched  himself  on  his 
back  on  a  bench,  and  began  to  fan  himself  with  his 
hat ;  yet  he  immediately  engaged  in  conversation  with 
William  Henry,  and  soon  launched  out  mos«t  eloquent- 
ly in  praise  of  Kentucky  and  Kentucky  lands.  Will- 
iam Henry  was  at  no  loss  to  perceive  that  he  was  a 
Virginia  gentleman  of  brilliant  and  cultivated  mind  and 
enthusiastic  character.  His  heart  drew  towards  him 
immediately ;  he  felt  that  there  was  a  man  whose 
friendship  might  be  valuable — would  certainly  be  warm 
and  true. 

"  Sir,"  said  the  gentleman,  "  I  perceive  that  you  are, 
like  myself,  from  the  Old  Dominion  (God  bless  her), 
and  going,  I  hope,  to  see  the  promised  land,  the  dark 
and  bloody  ground.,  the  glorious  garden  of  the  West." 

Before  William  Henry  could  make  any  reply,  the 
tavern-keeper,  who  had  entered  the  room,  seeing  the 
gentleman  lying  on  the  bench,  exclaimed, 

"  Captain  Terrell,  how  do  you  do  ?  I'm  glad  to  see 
you.  I  thought  I  knew  your  horse  Peacock  as  I  came 
by  the  lot.  How  d'ye  do,  sir?"  to  William  Henry. 
"  On  your  way  out,  captain,  from  the  old  settlements  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  from  the  worn-out  fields  of  my  native  land 
to  the  fertile  banks  of  Beargrass.  Some  cool  water, 
my  dear  sir,  if  you  please  ;  I  have  suffered  extremely 
from  heat  and  thirst  to-day." 

The  tavern-keeper  stepped  out,  and  called  a  servant 
to  bring  some  cool  water  directly — strait  off.  William 
Henry  took  from  his  pocket-book  a  letter,  and  present- 
ing it  to  Mr.  Terrell,  said, 

"  I  hope,  sir,  I  am  not  mistaken  in  presenting  to  you 
this  letter  from  my  father,  Edward  Ballenger?" 

"  I  am  the  very  man,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Terrell,  looking 
at  the  superscription,  "  and  most  happy  to  have  met 
with  you." 

He  arose  from  the  bench,  bowed,  and  extended  his 
hand  to  William  Henry ,~and  a  most  cordial  shake  that 
was.  He  then  opened  the  letter  and  read  it, 

"  I  hope  your  father  enjoys  good  health  ?" 


THE    RESCUE.  265 

"  I  am  sorry  to  say,  sir,  he  is  somewhat  of  an  inva- 
lid at  present,  though  not  confined,"  said  William 
Henry. 

"  How's  this,  my  young  friend  ?  this  letter  bears 
date,  not  from  Alexandria,  but  New  Hope,  on  the  Ka- 
nawha.  Has  your  father  removed  to  the  West?" 

"  Yes,  sir ;  last  fall  we  came  to  live  on  the  Ka- 
nawha." 

"  I  never  heard  that  he  had  left  Alexandria — had  no 
idea  that,  extensively  engaged  in  commercial  business 
as  he  was,  he  would  ever  remove,"  said  Mr.  Terrell. 
"New  Hope,  on  the  Great  Kanawha  —  above  the 
mouth  of  Coal,  Mr.  Ballenger?" 

"  Yes,  sir,  only  a  few  miles  below  the  falls,"  said 
William  Henry. 

"  Bless  me,"  said  Mr.  Terrell,  "  I  must  have  passed 
his  door ;  had  I  known  it,  I  most  certainly  would  have 
called  on  him.  I  recollect,  now,  a  part  of  your  grand- 
father's military  land  was  located  on  the  Kanawha." 

What  apparently  slight  circumstances  control,  or 
seem  to  control,  our  destinies !  Had  Mr.  Terrell  call- 
ed at  New  Hope,  the  important  and  touching  events 
that  remain  to  be  told  in  this  narrative  would,  in  all 
human  probability,  never  have  happened  ;  the  great 
value  of  Mr.  Ballanger's  lands  in  Kentucky  would 
have  been  known  to  him,  and  the  real  character  of 
Isaac  Forster,  at  least  as  a  land-agent.  But  we  must 
leave  William  Henry  and  Mr.  Terrell  to  pursue  to- 
gether their  journey  to  the  interior  of  Kentucky,  and 
return  ourselves,  with  our  readers,  to  the  neighbour- 
hood of  New  Hope,  barely  taking  time  now  to  inform 
them  that  another  traveller,  an  old  man  of  the  lower 
order,  shabbily  dressed,  stayed  all  night  at  the  tavern 
at  the  mouth  of  Big  Sandy,  while  William  Henry  Bal« 
lenger  and  Mr.  Terrell  also  lodged  there. 


NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 


CHAPTER  XXVIII. 

IT  will  probably  be  recollected  that  the  earliest  in- 
formation of  Mr.  Ballenger's  removal  to  Kanawha,  and 
of  the  transfer  of  lands  to  him  by  Smith  and  Bird, 
Buchanan  and  Alexander,  was  given  to  Isaac  Forster 
in  a  letter  from  Jones  Carter,  who  also  made  sundry 
suggestions  to  Mr.  Forster,  and  stated  that  his  son 
would  visit  him  the  ensuing  summer  or  fall.  Mr.  Car- 
ter said,  in  that  letter,  that  his  son  was  not  a  man  of 
business.  This  was  true  :  Samuel  Carter  was  a  wild, 
dissipated  young  man,  fond  of  the  bottle  and  the  card- 
table,  yet  not  entirely  devoid  of  good  principles  and 
generous  sentiments.  He  came  out  to  Kanawha,  as 
his  father  had  stated  he  would,  and  brought  papers  and 
money,  and  commissions  as  a  land-agent  for  Mr.  For- 
ster. Some  unsold  horses  had  been  left  at  Jones  Car- 
ter's,  in  Alexandria,  by  Jimmy  Dixon  ;  but  what  were 
the  business  of  other  relations  of  this  man  with  Isaac 
Forster  were  never  ascertained. 

Soon  after  Sam  Carter's  arrival  at  Mr.  Forster's, 
which  he  made  his  home  while  in  the  West,  he  and 
Isaac  visited  in  company  the  judges  of  the  General 
Court  for  the  Greenbrier  district,  and  Squire  Temple- 
man  ;  and  numerous  papers  were  signed,  and  acknowl- 
edged, and  interchanged  between  Mr.  Forster  anil  him- 
self as  the  attorney  of  his  father.  Young  Carter  as- 
sociated principally  with  Jimmy  Dixon,  who  found  out 
that  his  pockets  were  well  lined,  and  that  he  was  dis- 
posed to  empty  them  freely — to  risk  money  rashly  at 
play-cards,  dice,  quarter  racing,  or  any  kind  of  exci- 
ting sport.  They  were  often  loitering  about  Simpson's 
store,  a  short  distance  above  Mr.  Ballenger's,  drinking 
whiskey-toddy,  mint-juleps,  and  grog,  and  offering  it 
to  everybody  that  lounged  about  the  store  or  called 
there  to  purchase  any  article.  This  was  generally  at 


THE    RESCUE.  267 

the  expense  of  Carter,  whom  Jimmy  commonly 
called  Paymaster  Carter.  While  they  were  there 
one  evening,  shortly  after  William  Henry  went  on 
his  journey  to  Kentucky,  the  old  man  who  had 
stayed  all  night  at  Big  Sandy  when  William  Henry 
and  Mr.  Terrell  were  there,  rode  up  to  Simpson's 
store.  Jimmy  Dixon  hailed  him,  and  said, 

"Come,  'light,  Obed  Stapler,  and  take  a  drink." 

"  1  haven't  time,  Jimmy,"  said  the  old  man  ;  "  but 
step  here — a  word  with  you,  Dixon."  Jimmy  walk- 
ed out  to  the  side  of  his  horse.  "  Forster  wants  to 
see  you  mity  bad,  Jimmy,"  he  continued.  "He's 
monstrous  consarned  'bout  something,  and  told  me, 
if  I  seed  you  here,  or  anywhar  on  the  road,  to  tell 
you  to  come  to  his  house  straight  off.  You'd  bet- 
ter go,  sir,  immejiently.  Good-by,  Jimmy  ;  I  must 
be  in  the  Loop  afore  midnight."  So  saying,  Obed 
Stapler  galloped  off. 

This  wretch,  a  squatter  on  Mr.  Ballenger's -land 
on  the  invitation  of  Isaac  Forster,  was  connected 
with  Joe  Swinton's  gang,  and  had  been  to  Ken- 
tucky on  their  nefarious  business,  but  under  the 
pretext  of  driving  stock  for  Isaac  Forster  (receiv 
ed,  in  fact,  from  his  tenants  on  Mr.  Ballenger's 
lands).  He  was  now  on  his  way  home,  and  called 
at  Isaac's  house.  We  shall  gather  what  it  was  that 
so  deeply  interested  Isaac  Forster  from  the  follow- 
ing conversation  that  passed  between  him  and  this 
old  man. 

"Impossible,  Obed  Stapler,"  said  Isaac;  "you 
are  mistaken  ;  young  Ballcnger  has  gone  to  Old 
Virginia." 

""No  such  thing,"  said  Obed.  "  I  tell  you  I  stay- 
ed all  night  at  the  mouth  of  Big  Sandy,  and  he  was 
there  on  his  way  to  the  district  of  Kentucky.  I 
heard  Mr.  Terrell  call  him  by  his  name  twenty 
times  ;  besides,  I  seed  the  young  man  from  the 
bush  when  he  went  to  see  that  land  his  father 
claims  in  the  Loop.  I  am  not  mistaken,  Mr.  For- 
ster." 


268  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"What  Terrelll"  said  Isaac. 

"Captain  Dick  Terrell,  that  lives  on  Bear  Grass. 
I  know  him  as  well  as  I  know  you,  Mr.  Forster — 
that  is,  by  sight." 

Isaac's  face  became  black  as  night.  He  paced 
the  room,  and  muttered  to  himself,  "The  best 
tract  joins  Terrell's  land.  All  will  be  known. 
What  I  do  must  be  done  quickly,  by  G — d.  I 
thought  it  strange  young  Carter  did  not  meet  him. 
1  thought  he  must  have  passed  him  in  the  night. 
They  suspect,  d — n  me  if  they  don't.  That's  the 
reason  they  reported  he  was  going  to  Virginia. 
'Twas  done  to  deceive  me  as  to  his  motions — a 
deep  scheme.  D — n  all  deceit!"  Thus  mutter- 
ing, he  strode  up  to  Stapler,  seized  him  by  the  arm, 
and  looking  with  the  eyes  of  a  fiend  flashing  fury 
in  his  face,  he  said, 

"  Obed  Stapler,  it's  a  d  —  d  lie  !  you  are,  for  some 
purpose,  attempting  to  deceive  me,  and  if  you  do, 
I'll  send  your  soul  to  h — 11." 

"  I  tell  you  it's  the  truth,  sir,"  said  the  old  man, 
trembling  from  head  to  foot.  "I  know  I  can't  de- 
ceive you  if  I  was  to  try,  which  God  knows  I  nev- 
er did." 

Forster  relaxed  his  iron  grasp,  turned  to  the  ta- 
ble, poured  out  half  a  tumbler  of  spirits,  and  drank 
it  off'  at  a  draught. 

"  Tell  Dixon — you'll  find  him  at  the  store  or  on 
the  road  somewhere  as  you  go  along — to  come 
here  directly.  Be  off,  sir." 

Stapler,  glad  to  get  away,  rose  and  departed  in- 
stantly, looking  beTiind  as  if  he  expected  a  bullet 
through  his  head  before  he  reached  his  horse.  We 
already  know  that  he  delivered  Forster's  message 
to  Air.  Dixon.  The  latter  was  very  soon  at  Mr. 
Forster's,  for  he  knew,  from  Stapler's  remarks 
about  Forster,  to  use  his  own  words,  that  there 
was  "a  screw  loose  somewhere."  Ho  found  k.inc 
pacing  the  room  like  a  caged  tiger,  in  deep  thougnt. 
His  eyes  were  red  and  his  face  flushed. 


THE    RESCUE.  269 

In  order  to  understand  the  conversation  which 
ensued  between  these  men,  it  is  necessary  to  make 
our  readers  acquainted  with  some  particulars  in 
relation  to  Mr.  James  Dixon  to  which  we  have  not 
alluded.  In  passing  through  the  Loop,  and  to  and 
from  the  more  eastern  parts  of  Virginia,  he  had 
frequently  called  at  Squire  Templeman's ;  and  al- 
though Miss  Helen  despised  the  man  for  his  great 
mendacity  and  evident  looseness  of  moral  princi- 
ples, yet  she  was  amused  by  his  fabulous  tales, 
laughed  at  them  and  at  him — which  latter  he  did 
not  perceive — asked  him  many  questions  about 
persons  with  whom  she  was  acquainted  in  Old  Vir- 
ginia, and  conversed  with  him  so  freely  and  pleas- 
antly that  Jimmy  took  it  into  his  head  that  she  was 
very  much  pleased  with  him,  if  not  in  love.  This 
is  a  mistake  into  which  vain  young  men  are  very 
apt  to  fall.  It  flattered  his  vanity — which  was  not 
the  minimum  element  in  his  composition — so  much 
that  he  determined  to  court  the  young  lady  in  pure 
pity.  He  felt  sure  of  success.  The  more  he  saw 
of  her,  and  the  more  the  idea  of  courting  her  oc- 
cupied his  rnind,  the  more  did  he  become  interest- 
ed in  Miss  Helen,  till  at  last  he  was  really  as  much 
in  love  with  her  as  it  was  possible  for  such  a  man 
to  be  with  any  lady,  or  anything  else  besides  him- 
self. 

The  hint  that  Isaac  had  dropped  when  he  enga- 
ged Jimmy  to  show  William  Henry  Ballenger  his 
father's  land  in  the  Loop,  had  not  escaped  him. 
His  jealousy  was  aroused,  and  to  see  how  this 
young  man  would  be  received  and  treated  by  Hel- 
en, whom  he  considered  as  his  own,  was  a  prevail- 
ing reason  for  his  undertaking  to  show  the  land. 
What  happened  that  evening,  our  readers  well 
know,  was  not  at  all  calculated  to  allay  his  jealousy 
or  confirm  his  hopes  of  success.  While  William 
Henry  and  Miss  Templeman  were  studying  astron- 
omy in  the  porch,  Mr.  Dixon,  apparently  interest- 
ed in  conversation  with  Buck,  was,  in  reality,  burn- 


270  *EW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

ing  with  all  the  fires  of  jealousy,  and  intently  stud- 
ying the  means  of  defeating  his  rival,  who,  he 
plainly  perceived,  vain  as  he  was,  would  be,  or, 
rather,  was  a  most  formidable  foe  to  his  success. 
Deep  hatred  of  the  man  had  fastened  upon  his 
heart,  and  he  was  only  restrained  from  permitting 
Stapler  to  shoot  him  in  the  woods  by  the  fear  of 
his  being  implicated  as  the  guide,  or  by  the  appre- 
hension of  consequences  which  might  result  from 
men's  coming  to  search  for  a  dead  or  missing 
man  on  that  land.  There  was  something  there 
which  it  was  of  the  deepest  importance  to  conceal 
from  the  public  eye.  Dixon  was  in  full  view  when 
the  bear  was  so  near  hurling  William  Henry  over 
the  precipice,  and  he  hoped  she  would.  We  al- 
ready know  what  his  conduct  was  on  that  occa- 
sion ;  we  now  know  its  motive. 

"What's  wanting,  Mr.  Forsterl"  said  Dixon  as 
he  entered  the  room.  "  Obed  Stapler  told  me  you 
wanted  to  see  me." 

"  Where,"  said  Forster,  "  is  that  squinting  rascal 
that  went  with  you  as  a  driver  to  Virginia — Slocus 
I  think  you  called  him!" 

"I  sent  him  off,"  replied  Jimmy;  "he  was  a 
d — d  deal  too  knowing,  and  had  too  much  curiosi- 
ty for  my  use." 

"  Where  is  he  V'  said  Isaac  again. 

"Gone  to  Kentucky,"  replied  Jimmy. 

"  /  thought  so,"  said  Isaac,  very  slowly,  and  paus- 
ing at  every  word.  "And  where  is  young  Ballen- 
ger  !"  he  continued. 

"  Why,  gone  to  Old  Virginia,"  replied  Jimmy. 

Isaac  raised  his  eyes,  and  fixing  them  on  Jimmy, 
said,  "  It's  no  such  thing,  Mr.  Dixon  ;  that  was  only 
a  sham  report  to  blind  your  eyes.  He's  gone  to 
Kentucky  to  hunt  up  Slocus.  He's  not  content 
with  disappointing  your  just  expectations  of  mar- 
rying Ternpleman's  daughter — with  robbing  you  of 
that  charming  young  lady;  he  is  aiming  at  your 
reputation  and  life,  Mr.  Dixon,  and  the  poor  devil 


THE    RESCUE.  27] 

wants  the  rewards  offered  for  counterfeiters,  their 
aiders  and  abetters.  He's  on  a  hot  trail  after  you, 
for  Templeman  has  lately  got  letters  from  Green- 
briar  about  the  George  Baxter  trade,  and  young 
Ballenger  says  you  must  have  been  an  accomplice, 
and  he  means  to  worm  it  out." 

Jimmy  turned  pale  as  ashes.  Isaac  watched  his 
countenance,  and,  after  a  short  pause,  he  resumed. 

"  They  are  drawing  the  net  around  you,  my 
friend  j  and  unless  you  have  the  sense  and  courage 
to  break  the  meshes,  it's  all  over  with  you,  by 
G — d  j  and  you  are  to  be  victimized  by  that  con- 
ceited puppy,  young  Ballenger,  because  he  thinks 
you  are  in  his  way  with  Helen  Templeman." 

"  Gone  to  Kentucky  to  hunt  up  Slocus,  did  you 
say,  sir'!"  asked  Jimmy. 

"Yes,  man,  didn't  you  hear  what  I  said?  Sta- 
pler passed  him  at  the  mouth  of  Big  Sandy,  and 
heard  him  making  particular  inquiries  when  Slocus 
passed,  and  described  him  accurately  :  red  hair, 
limps  in  the  left  foot,  squints  with  the  right  eye, 
five  feet  nine  inches  high.  He'll  bribe  that  fellow, 
bring  him  back,  and  unless  he  is  followed  and  stop- 
ped in  his  proceedings — " 

"I'll  follow  him,  and  stop  him  too.  He  shall 
never  come  back  alive.  I  can  track  up  people  as 
well  as  Mr.  William  Henry  Ballenger,  I  guess," 
said  Jimmy. 

"  I  thought  it  my  duty  to  a  friend,  Mr.  Dixon,  as 
soon  as  I  became  informed  of  the  danger  of  his  po- 
sition, to  tell  him  of  it,"  said  Isaac  Forster,  "  that 
he  might  take  such  measures  as  are  due  to  his  af- 
fections, his  character,  and  his  life." 

"A  thousand  thanks,  Mr.  Forster.  I'm  bound  to 
you  for  life,  sir.  I'll  be  after  the  villain  in  two 
hours.  How  are  you  off,  friend  Forster,  for  loose 
cash  1  I  must  borrow  a  small  sum,  if  you  can 
spare  it." 

"  I  can  let  you  have  a  couple  of  hundred  on  the 
usual  terms." 


272  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

"  Oh,  of  course,"  said  Jimmy. 

"And,"  said  Isaac,  "  if  I  don't  hear  from  you  by 
— what  time  shall  I  say  1" 

"The  first  of  July,"  replied  Jimmy;  "for  this 
matter  requires  caution  and  fixing  to  do  it  right." 

"Very  well,"  said  Isaac,  "if  1  don't  hear  from 
you  before  the  first  of  July,  I  may  certainly  know 
that  you  have  finished  your  business  in  Kentucky 
satisfactorily." 

"Yes,"  replied  Jimmy;  "if  it  ain't  finished  by 
that  day,  you'll  hear  it  from  me.  But  finished  it 
shall  be,  one  way  or  another ;  I'm  not  to  be  used 
up  by  that  impudent,  meddling,  aristocratic  puppy  : 
I'll  make  him  see  stars,  G — d  d — n  him." 

"Remember,  Dixon,  that  I  am  greatly  interested 
as  a  friend,"  said  Forster,  "in  your  success;  and 
punctuality  is  all-important  in  friendship  as  well  as 
in  business;  a  word  will  be  sufficient,  such  as,  'I 
am  happy  to  inform  you  my  business  in  Kentucky 
has  been  settled  to  my  satisfaction.'  " 

"I  understand,"  said  Jimmy;  "no  particulars 
need  be  mentioned." 

"  And,"  said  Forster,  "  let  me  give  you  one  piece 
of  advice,  my  young  friend  ;  it  is  better  to  let 
things  of  importance  alone  than  to  half  do  them,  or 
to  trust  them  to  incompetent  agents,  or  to  persons 
who  may  prove  unfaithful.  It  is  not  every  man 
that  offers  to  discharge  a  delicate  and  important 
trust  that  can  be  relied  on ;  I  know  that  from  my 
own  experience,  Mr.  Dixon." 

Isaac  Forster  did  know  it  from  his  own  experi- 
ence. He  handed  Jimmy  two  hundred  dollars,  took 
his  note  for  the  same,  and  Jimmy  immediately  de- 
parted. Isaac  looked  after  him  as  he  rode  off  at 
full  gallop,  and  said, 

"He'll  do  it.  The  love  of  life  and  reputation  is 
a  strong  motive,  but  wounded  vanity,  the  desire  ot 
revenge,  hatred,  the  love  of  woman,  and  jealousy, 
are  stronger  still.  Fools,  when  they  wish  men  to 
act,  address  their  reason,  wise  men  their  interests 


THE    RESCUE.  273 

and  passions.  Reason — the  pander  of  appetite  and 
passion — never  moves  but  to  provide  the  means  for 
their  gratification,  or  most  logically  to  excuse  them. 
Passion  is  the  despot  that  sits  upon  the  throne  of 
the  human  soul ;  Reason,  the  willing,  dexterous, 
cunning,  crouching  slave  that  ministers  at  the  foot 
of  the  throne.  Ballenger's  life  is  not  worth  a  but- 
ton. He'll  never  return  from  Kentucky  if  Jimmy 
Dixon  is  the  man  I  take  him  for." 

How  often,  gentle  reader,  danger  and  death  are 
tracking  us  like  bloodhounds,  and  we  know  it  not. 
How  often  they  spring  from  slight  circumstances, 
and  even  from  such  as  we  think  have  no  relation 
to  ourselves,  or  from  others  that  we  never  even 
dreamed  of.  William  Henry  Ballenger  did  not 
know  that  he  had  an  enemy  in  the  world ;  yet  we 
know  that  one  is  following  him,  thirsting  for  his 
blood,  urged  on  by  violent  and  irritated  passions, 
directed  to  their  diabolical  purpose  by  a  crafty  and 
designing  man  for  the  accomplishment  of  his  own 
sinister  designs.  Those  who  are  called  the  master 
spirits  of  the  world  gain  wealth,  and  power,  and 
renown  by  using  human  levers,  which  they  work 
by  the  windlass  of  the  passions.  It  is  well  that 
those  who  work  only  to  good  ends  should  be  able 
to  use  that  potent  instrument  which,  like  the  me- 
chanical power,  gives  to  one  man  the  means  of  ef- 
fecting that  which  it  requires  the  labour  of  many 
to  perform.  Isaac  Forster's  powers  were  only  di- 
rected to  the  wrong  end  ;  they  were  precisely  like 
those  of  many  other  great  men  ;  and  it  is  a  curious 
fact,  that  when  the  end  is  great,  whether  good  or 
bad,  to  which  great  powers  are  directed,  we  admire 
them  and  praise  them  ;  but  when  the  end  is  little 
or  low,  we  despise  the  powers  directed  to  its  ac- 
complishment, not  reflecting  that  in  both  cases  the 
powers  themselves  may  be  exactly  the  same. 

Other  matters  of  moment  prevent  our  following 
Jimmy  Dixon  to  Kentucky  in  pursuit  of  William 
Henry  Ballenger,  whither  he  went  with  the  design 
12 


274  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

of  assassinating  him,  or  of  causing  him  to  be  mur- 
dered by  some  other  person  ;  but  we  suppose  Isaac 
Forster's  wise  counsel  applicable  to  that  subject, 
as  well  as  to  all  others,  was  not  thrown  away  on 
Dixon. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

IN  a  conversation  which  Isaac  Forster  had  with 
Joe  Swinton,  if  we  remember  rightly,  he  mention- 
ed a  certain  travelling  merchant  or  pedler  called 
Job  Terry,  whom  he  spoke  of  as  a  talking,  meddle- 
some fellow,  that  might  prove  troublesome  to  the 
fraternity  of  money-makers  and  circulators;  that 
he  should  be  looked  after,  and  his  mouth  stopped. 
This  pedler  was  a  sober,  industrious,  honest  man, 
benevolent  and  kind-hearted,  with  a  clear  head  and 
sagacious  mind;  rather  passionate  and  irascible, 
very  talkative,  and  generally  expressing  his  opin- 
ions of  men  and  things  with  great  freedom,  chock- 
ful  and  running  over  with  anecdote,  news,  and  gos- 
sip— of  course,  a  great  favourite  with  many  through- 
out the  country  in  which  he  made  his  semi-annual 
rounds.  Every  family,  children  and  all,  were  glad 
to  see  Job,  as  he  passed  along  with  his  little  pack 
of  merchandise,  and  great  one  of  news,  novelties, 
and  small  talk.  At  every  house  at  which  he  stop- 
ped Job  was  invited  to  stay  all  night,  and  was  nev- 
er charged  anything  for  his  accommodation;  but 
the  good  housewife  or  the  children  were  sure  to 
receive  an  equivalent  in  some  little  useful  or  agree- 
able present  made  at  the  moment  of  his  departure. 
He  scattered  through  the  country  more  copies  of 
"Poor  Richard,"  "  The  Housewife's  Guide,"  "  The 
Farmer's  Almanac,"  "  Live  and  Let  Live,"  &c  ,  &c., 


THE    RESCUE.  275 

than  any  other  man,  and  we  verily  believe  that  few 
colporteurs  of  modern  days  diffused  more  information 
than  Job  Terry.  He  h;id  been  this  spring  to  Old  Vir- 
ginia for  his  usual  supply  of  goods,  which  he  brought 
out  to  Greenbrier,  in  which  county  he  resided,  or, 
more  properly,  called  his  place  of  residence.  His 
stock  consisted  of  two  pack-horse  loads,  the  unsold 
remainder  of  which,  when  he  arrived  at  home,  was 
deposited  there,  except  an  assortment  suited  to  the 
wants  of  his  New  River  and  Kanawha  customers, 
whit.-h  he  carried  on  his  own  back.  When  this  was 
sold  out,  he  returned  to  his  deposite  in  Greenbrier  to 
replenish  his  pack,  and  would  again  set  out  through 
the  mountain  paths  to  supply  the  dwellers  among  the 
hills  and  by-streams  of  that  wild  country. 

On  his  return  from  Old  Virginia  this  spring,  as  soon 
as  he  passed  the  Blue  Ridge  into  the  Valley  of  Vir- 
ginia, he  was  very  much  annoyed  by  counterfeit  money, 
which  was  almost  every  day  offered  to  him  by  persons 
whom  he  know  to  be  honest,  and  above  all  suspicion 
of  attempting  knowingly  to  pass  spurious  coin.  This 
annoyance  increased  as  he  came  on  westward.  He 
had  examined  these  coins  so  carefully,  and  weighed 
them  so  often  on  the  ends  of  his  fingers,  that  he  could 
distinguish  them  instantly,  even  by  touch  in  the  dark. 
When  he  arrived  in  Greenbrier,  he  stopped  at  the 
houses  of  the  farmers  who  had  been  swindled  by  that 
respectable-looking  personage,  George  Baxter.  From 
them  he  heard  the  particulars  of  that  transaction  so  far 
as  they  were  known  to  them  ;  and  when  he  heard  of 
the  repurchase  of  the  horses  from  Baxter  by  Mr.  James 
Dixon,  at  an  advance  of  ten  per  cent.,  on  the  same  day 
that  these  farmers  had  sold  them  to  Baxter,  he  shook 
his  head,  and,  contrary  to  his  usual  habit,  said  nothing 
except,  "  It  is  too  bad.  There  is  a  gang  of  them,  de- 
pend upon  it,  and  some  men  thought  honest,  and  not 
suspected,  are  in  league  with  them."  He  travelled  on 
westward,  and  on  the  first  of  July,  a  very  warm  day, 
arrived  at  the  store  of  Mr.  James  Simpson,  between  the 
Falls  of  Kanawha  and  Mr.  Ballenger's. 


276  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

"  How  are  you,  friend  Terry  ?"  said  Mr.  Simpson. 

"  Well,  I  thank  you,  Mr.  Simpson,  but  very  warm 
and  tired,"  said  Job,  taking  off  his  pack  arid  sitting 
down.  "  What's  the  news  on  the  river?" 

"  None  worth  relating,"  replied  Mr.  Simpson  ;  "  dull 
times,  and  but  little  money.  I've  taken  in  so  little 
change  lately,  that  I  couldn't  change  a  twenty-dollar 
bill  for  Mr.  Ballenger  this  morning.  He  said  he  want- 
ed change  for  you,  friend  Job,  but  could  not  get  it." 

"  Why,  he  needn't  have  put  himself  to  any  trouble 
about  that,"  said  Job.  "  He  will  pay,  I  know.  There 
ain't  an  honester  man  in  the  world  than  that  same  Mr. 
Ned  Ballenger." 

"  What  news  eastward  ?"  said  Mr.  Simpson. 

"  Why,  old  rascals  and  new  counterfeits,"  replied 
Job.  "  Your  servant,  Mr.  Forster  ;  you  were  sitting 
so  still  I  didn't  see  you." 

Mr.  Forster  was  sitting  behind  the  door  reading  a 
newspaper.  He  nodded  to  Job,  and  continued  read- 
ing. 

"  New  counterfeits  1"  said  Simpson. 

"  Yes,"  replied  Terry.  "  The  old  ones  are  plenty 
as  blackberries  all  the  way  from  Waynesborough  to  this 
place.  I  got  used  to  them,  and  could  tell  them  day  or 
night,  by  sight  or  touch.  But  yesterday,  at  the  falls, 
a  new  one  deceived  me — wonderfully  well  executed, 
and  made  to  look  old,  and  rubbed,  but  lately  coined, 
I'll  be  sworn.  Here  it  is.  I  got  it  of  that  frolicking 
young  blade,  Sam  Carter,  who  had  much  better  be  at 
home  than  out  here  drinking,  and  gaming,  and  passing 
counterfeit  money." 

Simpson  looked  at  the  bad  dollar,  and  handed  it  to 
Mr.  Forster,  saying, 

"  If  that's  a  counterfeit,  I'm  no  judge  of  money. 
What  do  you  say,  Mr.  Forster  ?" 

"  I  know  very  little  of  such  things,"  said  Isaac,  ex- 
amining the  piece  of  money  closely,  "  but  I  should  say 
that  is  a  good  dollar;  if  it  is  not,  it  would  deceive  me." 

"  Give  me  a  file,"  said  Terry  to  Simpson  ;  "  I'll  con- 
vince you  in  a  moment." 


THE    RESCUE.  277 

He  took  the  file  handed  to  him,  and  drawing  it 
across  the  edge  of  the  dollar,  held  it  up  to  the  light, 
and  said, 

"  Look  there,  gentlemen  ;  nothing  but  base  metal — 
not  fourpence  worth  of  silver  in  it.  I  really  do  think, 
Mr.  Forster,  that  you,  and  other  gentlemen  of  proper- 
ty, and  influence,  and  knowledge,  who  have  large 
dealings  in  money,  and  are  so  much  interested  that  it 
should  be  genuine,  should  take  measures  to  detect  and 
bring  to  punishment  the  makers  and  circulators  of  thxjse 
counterfeits.  They  must  be  hereabouts  somewhere, 
for  this  is  one  of  a  new  stamp,  the  first  I've  met  with, 
and,  depend  upon  it,  not  far  from  the  place  where  it 
was  made.  I  for  one,  gentlemen,  shall  keep  my  eyes 
open,  and  my  ears  too,  and  will  do  all  I  can,  Mr.  For- 
ster, to  rid  the  country  of  such  rascals." 

"  That's  the  duty  of  every  good  citizen,"  said  Isaac 
"  You  got  it,  you  say,  of  young  Carter  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir,"  said  Job,  "  I  did.  The  young  man  was 
half  drunk,  and  said,  at  first,  he  had  no  change  to  pay 
me  for  a  handkerchief  he  asked  to  look  at,  saying  he 
had  somehow  lost  his  handkerchief  the  night  before  ; 
then  he  burst  out  a  laughing,  and  said,  '  How  forgetful 
I  am  ;  here's  a  dollar  for  the  handkerchief,  Mr.  Pedler. 
I  remember,  now,  that  last  night  I  was  out  of  silver,  and 
Mr.  Forster  gave  me  five  dollars  in  silver  for  a  note.'" 

"  That's  all  a  mistake,"  said  Forster,  quickly ;  "  the 
young  fellow  must  have  been  intoxicated,  as  you  say, 
Mr.  Terry.  I  gave  him  no  change,  but  he  changed  a 
five-dollar  note  for  me." 

"  These  wild,  rattling  young  fellows,"  said  Simpson, 
"  hardly  ever  know  how  their  money  comes  or  goes." 

Job,  seeing  Mr.  Forster  about  to  depart,  said  to  him, 
"  If  you  see  Mr.  Ballenger,  sir,  in  passing  his  house 
please  to  say  to  him  I  shall  be  along  to-morrow." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Forster,  bidding  them  good-day, 
and  riding  ofF. 

•'  How  immensely  rich  that  man  has  got  to  be,"  said 
Simpson  to  Job.  "  He  is  buying  every  good  piece  of 
land  in  the  market,  and  paying  the  cash  down  for  it." 


278  NEW  HOPE;  on, 

"  He  gets  it  the  cheaper  for  that,  friend  Simpson. 
Discount  —  discount,  sir — heavy  discount  is  allowed 
for  cash,  you  know,  in  these  hard  times.  Anything 
in  my  way,  Mr.  Simpson  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  open  your  pack." 

Job  opened  his  pack,  threw  its  contents  on  the 
counter,  told  Simpson  to  help  himself,  and  sat  himself 
down  to  read  a  book  which  he  took  from  his  pocket. 
After  a  little  while  he  arose,  put  his  articles  into  his 
pacK,  strapped  it  on  his  back,  saying,  "•  Good-by,  Mr. 
Simpson  ;  anything  in  my  line  to  accommodate  your 
customers  is  always  at  your  service.  You've  taken 
but  little  to-day — only  a  few  ribands,  pins,  and  needles. 
Not  now,"  added  he,  on  Simpson's  offering  to  pay  him 
for  the  articles.  "  Six  months,  or  when  I  go  East, 
will  be  time  enough." 

Job  trudged  off,  and  Mr.  Simpson  went  to  the  desk 
in  his  little  back  room  to  enter  the  articles  purchased 
of  Job  Terry  in  his  daybook. 

Notwithstanding  Mr.  Forster's  assertion  that  Carter 
had  given  him  change  for  a  five-dollar  bill,  the  young 
man  spoke  the  truth.  Mr.  Forster  had  changed  a  five- 
dollar  bill  for  him,  and  he  had  received  from  Mr.  For- 
ster the  identical  bad  dollar  passed  to  Job  Terry.  It 
was  an  accident.  Isaac  Forster  knew  the  dollar  the 
instant  he  saw  it.  He  never  knowingly  passed  bad 
money.  We  must  do  him  the  justice  to  say  so.  It 
happened  thus. 

Joe  Swinton,  on  his  return  from  Philadelphia,  where 
he  had  learned  something  new  in  his  trade — every  in- 
dustrious, ingenious  man  is  always  learning  something 
new — had  determined  to  favour  the  country  with  more 
circulating  currency — a  new  emission  of  money.  He 
thought  that  more  money  in  circulation  would  be  a 
great  relief  to  the  people  in  the  hard  times  so  much 
complained  of,  though  it  should  be  no  better  than  the 
notes  of  non-specie-paying  banks.  Now  it  is  true  that 
patriotic  men  always  try  to  direct  their  knowledge  to 
the  production  of  public  benefits.  The  relief  of  the 
people  always  constitutes  their  staple  material  of  elo 


THE    RESCUE.  279 

quence  and  action.  On  finishing  his  new  and  im- 
proved die,  he  was  so  pleased  with  the  first  coins 
struck  by  it,  that  he  carried  one  to  Isaac  Forster, 
knowing  that  he  was  a  great  friend  to  American  man- 
ufactures, and  was  delighted  with  all  improvements  in 
them  calculated  to  render  us  independent  of  the  work- 
shops of  Europe  —  a  National  Republican  of  the  right 
sort,  who  believed  it  to  be  the  interest  of  every  Amer- 
ican to  pay  forty  bushels  of  wheat,  or  a  bale  of  cotton, 
or  a  thousand  pounds  of  tobacco,  for  any  article  man- 
ufactured in  America,  when  the  same  article  imported 
from  Europe  would  cost  him  only  half  as  much. 

Isaac  expressed  great  satisfaction  on  examining  this 
specimen  of  American  industry,  and  evidence  of  the 
advance  of  the  useful  arts.  He  put  the  dollar  into  his 
pocket  instead  of  a  safer  place,  as  he  intended  to  do, 
and  afterward,  mistaking  the  intention  for  the  act,  as 
many  other  people  do,  inadvertently  gave  it  in  change, 
with  four  other  good  dollars,  to  Sam  Carter.  These 
little  accidents  will  occasionally  happen  to  the  great- 
est men,  and  they  sometimes  lead  to  most  important 
results. 

Isaac  Forster  rode  from  Simpson's  store  straight  to 
his  own  house,  expecting  to  find  young  Carter  there. 
He  found  him  there,  and  held  a  long  conversation  with 
him,  the  subject  of  which  may  be  inferred  from  some 
expressions  of  Carter  after  Forster  went  out,  and  from 
succeeding  events.  Isaac  retired  to  his  own  chamber, 
and  locked  the  door — his  invariable  practice. 

Carter,  who  was  even  then  slightly  intoxicated, 
muttered  to  himself,  "  I'll  cane  that  pack-ridden  rascal. 
I  pass  counterfeit  money  knowingly — Forster's  right. 
I  must  put  a  stop  to  such  insolence.  He's  a  pretty 
fellow,  that  lying  pedler,  upon  my  word  !  He'll  place 
my  character  in  its  true  light,  will  he  ?  I'll  see  him 
as  he  comes  down  the  road,  that's  arranged  ;  and  so 
now  to  bed,  and  a  good  comfortable  snoose  I'll  have, 
after  two  nights'  loss  of  sleep  at  little  loo  and  all- 
fours." 

Isaac  did  not,  like  young  Carter,  turn  in  and  go  to 


280  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

sleep.  He  was  too  much  occupied  with  reflections  on 
the  probable  course  of  his  affairs  ;  and  he  came  to  the 
conclusion  that,  although  Dixon  should  succeed  in  ac- 
complishing the  purpose  of  his  mission  to  Kentucky, 
still  Mr.  Ballenger  would  become  acquainted  with  the 
teal  value  of  his  lands,  either  from  It-tiers  from  his  son 
jy  some  private  hand,  before  Dixon  could  finish  his 
business,  or  from  such  correspondence  as  would  inev- 
itably take  place  with  persons  in  Kentucky,  should 
that  event  happen.  Of  that  he  had  no  doubt.  His 
own  true  character  would  thus  be  known  as  a  land- 
agent,  and  he  had  seen  enough  of  Mr.  Ballenger  to 
know  that  all  confidence  in  him  would  be  lost  by  that 
gentleman,  and  all  endeavours  to  get  the  control  of  his 
lands  or  business  at  an  end.  He  therefore  determin- 
ed to  propose  to  Miss  Ballenger  the  very  next  day, 
and  if  she  should  be  so  devoid  of  taste,  or  so  regard- 
less of  the  manifold  advantages  of  becoming  Mrs.  For- 
ster,  as  to  reject  him,  to  compass  the  death  of  her  fa- 
ther, by  some  means  or  other,  immediately.  The 
means  and  mode  he  left  to  be  moulded  by  such  cir- 
cumstances as  might  occur,  or  might  be  suggested,  on 
his  proposed  visit  to  New  Hope  the  next  day.  It  was 
an  alternative  to  which  he  hoped  he  might  not  be  re- 
duced. He  thought  that  Mr.  Ballenger  and  his  daugh- 
ter could  not  be  ignorant  of  his  wealth,  popularity,  and 
influence  ;  and  as  he  had  succeeded  in  making  favour- 
able impressions  in  regard  to  himself  personally  on 
every  member  of  the  family,  and,  moreover,  his  devo- 
ted attachment  to  the  young  lady  must  have  been  ob- 
served, he  concluded  that  Mr.  Ballenger  had  conversed 
with  his  daughter  on  the  subject  in  such  a  manner  as 
to  manifest  his  desire  to  have  Mr.  Forster  for  a  son-in- 
law,  and  that  she  would  jump  at  his  offer.  But  if,  con 
trary  to  his  expectations  and  wishes,  she  should  reject 
him,  he  could  see  no  other  mode  of  gratifying  the  in 
tense  selfishness  and  grasping  avarice  of  his  soul  than 
that  of  causing  the  death  of  Mr.  Ballenger.  The  for 
ged  will,  which  was  safely  concealed,  would  in  tha\ 
event  answer  all  his  purposes. 


THE    RESCUE. 


281 


The  greatest  and  the  wisest  men  cannot  control  or 
arrest  the  ever-roiling  current  of  events,  but  they  often 
give  it,  or  seem  to  give  it,  a  character  which  they  ima- 
"inc  will  tend  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  wishes. 
Th 
dist 


more 
to  his 

little  field,  in  which  two  hireVP'Kil'Re.  no'cinir'orkinjj  his 
scanty  crops.  Uncle  Tom  was  busy  in  the  garden,  or 
kitchen,  or  stable.  When  in  the  house,  Mr.  Ballenger 
devoted  the  greater  part  of  his  time  to  reading.  His- 
tory, biography,  travels,  and  natural  history,  Homer 
12* 


280 


NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 


sleep.     He  was  too  much  occupied  with  reflections  on 
the  probable  course  of  his  affairs  ;  and  he  came  to  the 

^  'in  ac~ 


PLAJNFIELD. 

The  oldest  person  in  this  town  is  Mre. 
Sally  Packard.  She  will  be  91  the  12th 
of  July  next.  Her  maiden  name  was  Sally 
Stowell.  Her  husband  was  Caleb  Pack- 
ard, born  iu  Ashiield,  near  the  Plainfield 
line.  He  worked  at  the  carpenter's  trade. 
They  were  married  Feb.  21,  1811,  by  Rev. 
Moses  Hal  lock.  He  deceased  Aug.  9, 
1861.  They  lived  together  50  years  and 
nearly  six  mouths.  Number  of  their  chil- 
dren 11.  Seven  are  living,  all  have  fami- 
lies. Four  live  iu  Piainiield,  one  in  Ash- 
field,  one  in  Ohio,  one  in  Wisconsin.  Her 
mental  faculties  are  well  preserved.  She 
has  20  grandchildren  ;  ten  great  grandchil- 
dren ;  three  great-great-graifdchildren.  In- 
cluding herself,  there  are  five  generations; 
all  were  together  some  two  yrars  ago.  Her 
oldest  son.  Philander  Packard  of  this  town, 
has  five  grandchildren  and  three  great- 
grandchildren. Two  of  IKT  husband's  sis- 
ters lived  and  died  in  this  io'.vn,  one  at  the 
age  of  87,  the  other  88.  They  lived  or 
kept  housr:  together,  and  Mrs.  Packard 
used  to  speak  of  them,  even  when  they 
were  upwards  of  eighty,  as  "the  girls." 
For  a  long  series  of  years  she  was  a  mem- 
ber of  the  Baptist  church  which  existed 
formerly  in  the  east  part  of  Piainlidd. 


he 

on 

his 

v- 

Llld 

lis 
id- 
to 
hat 
his 
in- 
ay, 
rd- 
or- 
fa- 

cir- 
on 
ivas 
re- 
gh- 
and 
ur- 
on 
o- 
b- 
d 
as 
n- 


aW,  unu  iuai  &uu  would  jump  di  ins  uuei.  JbULit,  con 
trary  to  his  expectations  and  wishes,  she  should  rejeci 
him,  he  could  see  no  other  mode  of  gratifying  the  in 
tense  selfishness  and  grasping  avarice  of  his  soul  than 
that  of  causing  the  death  of  i\Ir.  Ballenger.  The  for 
ged  will,  which  was  safely  concealed,  would  in  tha\ 
event  answer  all  his  purposes. 


THE   RESCUE.  281 

The  greatest  and  the  wisest  men  cannot  control  or 
arrest  the  ever-rolling  current  of  events,  but  they  often 
give  it,  or  seem  to  give  it,  a  character  which  they  ima- 
gine will  tend  to  the  accomplishment  of  their  wishes. 
The  conduct  and  observations  of  the  pedler,  Job  Terry, 
disturbed  Mr.  Forster,  and  strengthened  his  determi- 
nation to  carry  his  designs  into  immediate  execution. 
He  felt  towards  that  man  as  if  .lob  Terry  was  inten- 
tionally doing  him  a  personal  injury  and  injustice. 
Thus  feel  those  whose  secret  misdeeds  are  obnoxious 
to  censure  and  liable  to  detection  towards  all  men  who 
denounce  the  crimes  of  which  they  are  guilty,  and  who 
labour  to  detect  or  punish  them. 


CHAPTER  XXX. 

AN  unusually  calm  and  still  state  of  the  atmosphere 
is  said  to  precede  those  sweeping  hurricanes  that  des- 
olate the  earth.  So,  in  the  moral  world,  calmness  and 
quietude  are  often  the  precursors  of  storms,  and  tem- 
pests of  desolation  and  destruction. 

Since  the  departure  of  George  Arbuckle  Temple- 
man  and  William  Henry  Ballenger,  the  habitation 
of  Mr.  Ballenger  had  been  the  very  abode  of  quiet, 
stillness,  and  peaceful  repose.  Matilda,  whether  in 
the  garden  among  her  vegetables  and  flowers,  or  in 
the  house  engaged  in  domestic  duties,  moved  with 
noiseless  step.  Her  harp  was  silent  since  they  went 
away.  Her  father,  whose  health,  though  delicate, 
seemed  to  be  improving,  went  out  but  little  :  some- 
times, but  rarely,  he  rode  a  mile  or  two.  He  more 
commonly  walked  in  the  morning  or  evening  to  his 
little  field,  in  which  two  hired  men  were  working  his 
scanty  crops.  Unclo  Tom  was  busy  in  the  garden,  or 
kitchen,  or  stable.  When  in  the  house,  Mr.  Bnllenger 
devoted  the  greater  part  of  his  time  to  reading.  His- 
tory, biography,  travels,  and  natural  history,  Homer 
12* 


282  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

and  Virgil,  Shakspeare,  Milton,  Gray,  and  Young,  were 
his  favourites.  But  the  Bible  was  preferred  to  all  ; 
that  book  he  considered  not  only  as  our  greatest  treas- 
ure, the  recorded  inspiration  of  the  Holy  Spirit,  the 
only  safe  teacher  and  guide  in  all  things  relating  to 
man's  eternal  destiny  and  temporal  welfare,  but  the 
repository  of  masses  of  information  on  other  most  in- 
teresting subjects — history,  natural,  moral,  and  politi- 
cal ;  Oriental  geography,  manners,  and  customs — not 
invented  or  compiled  by  men  to  support  theories,  par- 
ties, or  ruling  powers  by  the  introduction  of  false  facts 
or  the  artful  and  deceptive  collocation  and  arrangement 
of  true  ones — but  inspired  truth,  spoken  by  the  chosen 
of  the  Almighty,  and,  therefore,  worthy  of  all  accepta- 
tion. The  sublimity,  splendid  imagery,  and  pathos  of 
its  poetical  portions,  he  felt  to  be  immeasurably  supe- 
rior to  those  of  all  other  books.  The  tenderness,  sim- 
plicity, and  sweetness  of  its  metrical  melodies,  seem- 
ed to  him  unapproached  and  unapproachable.  How 
often  would  he  stop  his  daughter,  in  reading  to  him 
the  Psalms  of  David,  the  monarch  minstrel,  in  her  soft, 
lute-like  voice,  to  comment  on  the  varied  and  superla- 
tive beauties  of  thought  and  expression !  What  a 
scene  for  a  painter  did  that  Christian  father  and  daugh- 
ter present,  as  he  sat,  with  the  large  family  Bible  open 
in  his  lap,  and  she,  in  a  low  chair  beside  him,  with  her 
arm  resting  on  his  knee,  and  looking  up.  with  lips 
apart,  to  his  pale,  manly,  expressive  face,  as  he  des- 
canted on  some  sublime  or  pathetic  passage  with  all 
the  fervid  eloquence  of  genius,  and  all  the  feeling  firm- 
ness of  faith !  She  would  almost  hold  her  breath  to 
catch  his  impassioned  words  and  the  admiring,  do- 
ting smile  of  filial  affection  that  played  upon  her  beau- 
tiful face,  and  the  tear-drop  starting  in  her  eyes,  gave 
her  a  spiritual  loveliness  almost  divine.  Peace,  and 
joy,  and  hope?  and  gratitude  filled  their  hearts,  not- 
withstanding the  forlorn  and  destitute  condition  in 
which  they  were  placed,  and  the  gathering  clouds  of 
misfortune  that  were  lowering  around  them.  Ah!  lit- 
tle did  they  even  imagine  how  soon  those  clouds  would 


THE    RESCUE.  283 

burst  upon  them  in  all  their  pitiless  fury  and  unrelent- 
ing violence. 

The  day  after  that  on  which  Job  Terry  called  at 
Simpson's  store,  Isaac  Forster,  according  to  his  deter- 
mination, went  to  Mr.  Ballenger's  in  order  to  make  his 
proposals  to  Matilda.  He  arrived  there  about  eleven 
o'clock,  dressed  and  equipped  after  the  most  approved 
fashion  of  gentlemen  in  search  of  a  wife.  He  was  in 
high  spirits,  and  confident  of  success.  Miss  Ballenger 
was  not  taken  unawares.  What  young  lady  ever  is, 
if  the  gentleman  acts  as  gentlemen  should  who  are  in 
love  ?  The  premonitory  symptoms  are  as  evident  to 
them  as  are  those  of  any  other  eruptive  disease  about 
to  break  out  to  a  Philadelphia  doctor. 

Miss  Matilda  had  known  for  months  past  that  Mr. 
Forster  was  in  love  with  her,  or  with  something,  and, 
as  we  have  said  before,  she  naturally  concluded  it  was 
with  herself.  We  have  said,  too,  that  the  discovery 
gave  her  pain.  This  is  really  true,  however  incredi- 
ble it  may  appear  to  our  young  lady  readers  whose  af- 
fections, like  those  of  Matilda,  have  been  given  to  an- 
other, or  to  those  who  have  no  affections  to  give  to 
anybody.  Independently  of  the  pleasant  initiation 
administered  to  a  certain  failing  of  human  nature,  from 
which  we  are  sorry  to  say  that,  all  lovely  and  near  to 
perfection  as  they  are,  ladies  are  not  entirely  exempt, 
there  is  something  in  courtship  to  women  and  girls 
like  field-sports  to  men  and  boys.  It  is  exciting;  and 
what  human  being  does  not  love  excitement  ?  It  is 
not  the  death  of  the  deer  that  gives  such  exquisite 
pleasure  to  the  sportsman.  The  hot  pursuit,  its  glori- 
ous hazards,  and  being  in  at  the  death — these  consti- 
tute the  charm ;  and  then  to  be  able  to  recount  the 
thrilling  incidents  of  the  chase — "  to  fight  his  battles 
o'er  again."  Only  listen  to  an  old  lady  who  has  been 
a  belle  in  her  day,  replying  to  her  pretty,  coquettish 
granddaughter,  just  returned  from  school,  who  said, 

"  Grandma,  didn't  Mr.  Such-a-one,  the  late  member 
of  Congress  from  this  district,  court  you  when  you 
were  a  girl  like  me  ?"  See  the  twinkle  in  her  eye, 


284  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

and  the  arching  of  the  neck,  and  the  expansion  of,  the 
chest. 

"  Why,  child,  I  .was  older  than  you  are  when  lie  ad- 
dressed me.  You  must  be  thinking  of  Judge  Pointe- 
law,  when  he  was  a  student  in  Fredericksburg  and  I 
was  at  Mrs.  Strachan's  boarding-school.  Who  in  the 
world  could  have  told  you  of  that  foolish  flirtation  ?" 

"  Oh!  grandma,  please  tell  me  all  about  it." 

And  the  granddaughter  was  so  importunate  that  the 
old  lady  related  the  whole  affair  "  ab  ovo  usque  ad  ma- 
lum,"  with  as  much  gout  as  the  first  egg  and  the  last 
apple  of  a  Roman  banquet  are  discussed  by  the  hungry 
umbra,  at  the  table. 

We  would  repeat  the  very  words  .of  Mr.  Forster's 
courtship  for  the  benefit  of  ether  gentlemen,  if  he  had 
been  successful — and  we  would  not  only  tell  what  he 
said,  but  what  he  did — but  as  he  was  not,  it  would  be 
of  no  practical  utility  to  others  making  similar  experi- 
ments. And  we  could  tell  what  Matilda  said — how 
she  was  dressed  —  how  she  looked  at.  the  different  pas- 
sages of  this  encounter,  and  what  she  suffered;  but 
we  do  not  mean  to  subject  ourselves  to  the  criticisms 
of  diploma-ed  boarding-school  misses,  who  are  more  au 
fait  in  these  matters  than  we  pretend  to  be,  who  have 
never  been  engaged  in  more  than  a  dozen  or  two  of 
such  skirmishes.  Those  >of  them  who  not  only  know 
how  to  look,  and  what  to  say,  and  what  to  do — who, 
like  the  Babylonian  Thisbe,  could  kiss  through  a  crack 
in  a  brick  wall,  leap  out  of  a  window,  or  steal  out  un- 
perceived  to  meet  their  Pyramus — would  sneer  at  our 
unsophisticated  simplicity,  or  charge  us  with  the  gross- 
est ignorance.  No,  no,  we  have  not  the  vanity  to 
think  we  could  give  them  a  single  new  or  available 
idea  on  the  subject.  We  shall,  therefore,  content  our- 
selves with  merely  saying  that  Miss  Matilda  Ballenger 
rejected  Mr.  Forsler's  offer  of  his  hand,  and  heart,  and 
fortune  in  such  decided  terms,  and  with  such  looks, 
which  he  knew  are  more  decisive  than  words  in  such 
cases,  that  he  lost  all  hope,  and  was  convinced  that 
her  determination  wa^/  final  and  unalterable — that  far 
ther  pursuit  would  be  useless  and  unDroiitable. 


THE    RESCUE.  285 

When  she  rose  to  leave  the  room,  he  also  rose  from 
his  seat,  and  with  an  expression  of  countenance  which 
she  had  never  seen  before,  and  which  made  her  shud- 
der, he  extended  his  closed  hand  towards  her  as  she 
reached  the  door,  and  raising  it  above  his  head,  and 
bringing  it  slowly  down  as  he  spoke,  he  said  to  her, 

"  Miss  Ballenger,  you  will  repent  this." 

Mr.  Forster  did  not  immediately  depart,  as  is  the 
custom  of  the  heroes  of  novels  in  such  cases ;  he 
stayed  to  dinner,  and  even  till  the  dusk  of  the  evening. 
What  can  be  the  reason  that,  as  nations  become  older, 
more  refined,  and  more  corrupt,  the  dining  hour  be- 
comes later  and  later?  The  Romans,  during  the  later 
periods  of  the  Empire,  did  not  dine  till  night;  for 
what  is  called  their  supper  was,  in  fact,  a  dinner. 
The  nobility  and  their  apes  in  England  and  on  the 
Continent  of  Europe  dine  at  night  and  sup  in  the 
morning,  that  is,  alter  12  o'clock  at  night;  and  even 
in  our  young  Republic,  in  the  cities,  the  only  places, 
our  readers  know,  where  any  pretensions  are  made  to 
civilization,  gentility,  and  refinement,  to  dine  before 
five  or  six  o'clock  in  the  evening  would  be  vulgar  in 
the  extreme — would  unerringly  indicate  the  absence  of 
all  right  to  rank  among  the  refined,  the  intellectual,  and 
fashionable. 

The  metamorphosis,  though,  which  wealth  produces 
is  quite  remarkable.  The  acquisition  of  riches  in  a 
week's  time  civilizes,  refines,  and  elevates  those  who, 
while  poor,  had  been  the  most  vulgar  nobodies,  to  the 
highest  degree  in  the  scale  of  scociety,  and  changes 
the  dining  hour  from  twelve  M.,  or  from  no  time  at  all, 
to  seven  or  eight  P.M.  As  they  ascend,  the  dining 
hour  descends.  It  is  the  barometer  of  life  and  fash- 
ion :  the  lower  the  mercury,  the  higher  the  life. 
"When  does  he  dine?"  is  the  only  question  that 
need  be  asked  to  ascertain  the  consequence,  consider- 
ation, and  rank  of  any  person. 

Mr.  Hallenger,  when  he  lived  in  Alexandria,  dined 
at  from  three  to  five,  according  to  the  number  and 
quality  of  his  guests ;  but  now,  alas !  he  dined  at  one 


286  NEW   HOPE  :    OR, 

or  two,  and  sometimes  earlier.  The  mercury  had 
risen  rapidly  as  he  had  fallen  in  his  fortunes.  Miss 
Matilda  appeared  at  the  dinner-table,  calm  and  com- 
posed, though  she  had  been  courted  not  an  hour  be- 
fore ;  and  every  trace  of  disappointment  and  displeas- 
ure had  disappeared  from  the  face  of  Mr.  Forster. 
No  person  would  have  suspected,  from  the  demeanour, 
words,  or  looks  of  either,  what  had  passed  between 
them.  Soon  after  dinner  Mr.  Ballenger  complained 
of  headache,  and  excused  himself  to  Mr.  Forster  for 
retiring  to  his  chamber  and  lying  down  a  short  time. 
By-the-way,  we  will  observe  that  he  had  no  right  to 
have  the  headache — that  is  the  exclusive  privilege  of 
ladies.  Mr.  Forster  took  a  newspaper  from  the  man- 
telpiece and  seated  himself  in  the  porch. 

The  family  at  New  Hope  had  but  few  visiters ; 
among  them  were  Mr.  John  Glover  and  his  sister 
Mary,  the  son  and  daughter  of  a  worthy  man,  who  was 
one  of  the  earliest  settlers  on  the  Great  Kanawha. 
They  were  plain,  good  people,  and  Mary  Glover  was 
an  interesting,  sweet  girl,  with  a  pretty  face,  artless 
manners,  and  an  excellent  heart.  She  loved  and  ad- 
mired Matilda  Ballenger  exceedingly.  In  the  words 
of  her  brother  John,  she  thought  Miss  Matilda  the 
finest  thing  in  the  whole  world.  Matilda  reciprocated 
at  least  her  feelings  of  kindness  and  affection.  Soon 
after  dinner  they  came  to  Mr.  Ballanger's.  Matilda 
arid  Mary  ran  into  the  chamber  of  the  former,  and  re- 
mained there  until  Uncle  Tom  announced  the  arrival 
of  Job  Terry,  the  pedler.  They  immediately  repaired 
to  the  sitting-room,  where  John  Glover  joined  them. 
He  had  been  walking  in  the  garden,  looking  at  the 
wild  flowers,  and  wondering  what  could  have  induced 
Matilda  to  be  at  the  pains  of  planting  such  common 
things  there — just  such  as  he  met  with  every  day  in 
the  woods  on  the  river.  If  they  had  been  foreign 
weeds  not  half  so  beautiful,  it  would  not  have  excited 
the  least  degree  of  wonder.  It  is,  it  would  seem, 
characteristic  of  the  people  of  these  United  States  to 
pet,  cherish,  and  ad/nire  vegetable  and  animal  exotics. 


THE    RESCUE.  287 

Numbers  of  foreign  weeds  have  been  imported  or 
blown  across  the  Atlantic,  which  have  proved  almost 
as  worthless  and  as  great  pests  as  many  of  the  foreign 
quadrupeds  and  bipeds  that  have  found  their  way  here 
and  settled  among  us,  or  have  honoured  us  with  tran- 
sient visits,  and  left  nothing  behind  them  but  a  part  of 
their  filth,  which  they  could  not  carry  away  from  the 
mere  magnitude  of  its  burden.  If  these  transient  bi- 
peds would  only  praise  us  and  please  us  while  they 
are  eating  our  meat  and  receiving  our  foolish  atten- 
tions— for  which  they  despise  us,  and  go  home  and 
abuse,  sneer  at,  misinterpret,  misstate,  and  falsify  our 
manners,  habits,  customs,  laws,  institutions  ;  our  mount- 
ains, rivers,  lakes,  lands,  productions ;  our  rain,  hail, 
snow,  thunder,  and  lightning,  and  all  ;  our  roads, 
coaches,  conveyances  by  land  and  water,  and  mud  ; 
our  President,  Congress,  judges  ;  and  our  treatment  of 
slaves,  almost  as  bad  as  that  of  their  own  peasants, 
servants,  and  operatives — we  should  have  no  just  cause 
of  complaint.  In  the  first  place,  because  we  treated 
such  animals  as  gentlemen ;  in  the  second,  because 
their  patriotism  required  them  to  wreak  their  ven- 
geance upon  us  for  daring  to  rebel  against  our  lawful 
sovereign,  and  to  set  up  for  ourselves ;  in  the  third, 
because  they  properly  wish  to  prevent  the  emigration 
of  good  men  from  their  own  country  ;  in  the  fourth, 
because  it  makes  them  popular  at  home,  and  puts 
money  into  their  pockets,  which  they  need,  and  are 
willing  to  earn  by  blacking  us  or  anything;  in  the 
fifth,  because  it  twits  and  mortifies  us  upstart  pre- 
tenders to  gentility  in  the  United  States,  a  very  proper 
and  praiseworthy  object  in  those  who  are  no  pretend- 
er:* at  home,  and  such  are  all  who  come  here,  for  they 
tell  us  so  themselves.  Now  for  all  the  pains  they 
have  kindly  taken  to  place  these  matters  in  their  true 
light  before  our  own  eyes  and  before  the  world,  we, 
as  in  duty  bound,  are  thankful,  and  will  try  to  profit  by 
their  wholesome,  well-m^ant,  judicious  correction. 
We  are  the  child  of  England,  and  they,  in  behalf  of 
her,  act  upon  the  Christian  precept,  Spare  the  rod  and 


288  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

spoil  the  child  ;  but  we  do  protest  against  their  med- 
dling with  matters  of  which  they  are  entirely  and  pro- 
foundly ignorant,  as  they  have  in  the  whole  kingdom 
of  Great  Britain,  Ireland  included,  nothing  of  the  sort 
— I  mean  (what  else  could  1  mean?)  tobacco  spittle, 
bed-bugs,  and  blackguards. 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

As  we  returned  from  this  digression,  into  which 
John  Glover  led  us,  Mr.  Ballenger  returned  lo  the  sit- 
ting-room. He  invited  Job  Terry  to  take  off  his  pack 
and  sit  down.  Matilda  inquired  if  he  had  dined,  and 
he  replied  that  he  had,  some  time  ago. 

"  Mr.  Terry,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  I  am  sorry  I 
have  not  the  change  I  owe  you.  I  have  attempted  to 
procure  it  in  the  neighbourhood,  but  I  could  not  get  it, 
and  I  expect  that  ail  my  daughter  has  you  will  get  to- 
day. You  are  going  down  the  river,  I  suppose,  and 
you  must  call  on  your  return,  when  1  hope  I  shall 
have  it  ready  for  you." 

"  It  makes  no  odds  in  the  world,  sir,"  replied  Job. 
"  I  did  not  call  for  that,  but  to  see  you  all,  and  to  sell 
the  young  folks  something  if  I  can,  or  you,  sir,  if  you 
want  anything  I've  got." 

"  As  soon  as  you  are  rested,  Mr.  Terry,  open  your 
store,"  said  Matilda.  "  I  want  a  few  small  articles, 
and  I  like  to  buy  them  of  you,  as  I  have  found  all  that 
I  have  bought  of  you  of  excellent  quality." 

"Thank  you,  miss,  for  the  compliment  to  my  judg- 
ment in  choosing  goods.  I  endeavour  to  supply  my 
customers  with  a  good  article  at  fair  prices." 

"  Mary,  don't  you  want  something  ?"  said  John 
Glover. 

"  Yes,  indeed,  that  I  do,"  replied  Mary. 

"  I  can  tell  \yhat  it,  is,"  said  John. 


THE    RESCUE.  289 

"  That  you  can't,  brother,"  ar  J  Mary  whispered  to 
Matilda. 

"  May  I  guess,  then  ?"  asked  John.  "  I  think  I  can 
come  very  near  it." 

*'  Let  us  hear  your  guess,  Mr.  Glover,"  said  Job  and 
Matilda  at  the  same  instant. 

"  A  handsome  beau  !"  said  John. 

"  I  don't  keep  the  article,  sir,"  said  Job,  opening  his 
pack. 

"  Now  ain't  you  ashamed,  brother  ?"  said  Mary. 

"  Not  at  all,"  replied  John  ;  "  the  article  is  scarce, 
and  in  demand,  I  reckon.  May  I  guess  again,  Mary  ?" 

"  Do  let  him,  Miss  Mary,"  said  Job.  "  I  think  I 
have  the  article  this  time,  and  he'll  be  bound  to  buy  it 
for  you  if  he  guesses  right." 

"  Well,  guess,  brother." 

"  Something  to  get  you  one,  then,"  said  John. 

"  Here's  the  very  thing,"  said  the  pedler,  displaying 
a  very  pretty  shawl  of  a  new  pattern. 

"  It  is  beautiful !"  exclaimed  Matilda.  "  I  declare, 
Mr.  Glover,  you  ought  to  purchase  it  for  Mary,  to 
make  amends  for  teasing  her  so." 

Although  Mary  protested  that  she  wanted  it  for  no 
such  purpose,  her  eyes  sparkled  with  pleasure  as  John 
drew  out  the  money,  paid  for  the  shawl,  and  threw  it 
over  her  shoul  lers.  Mr.  Ballenger  walked  out,  and 
Matilda  purchased  several  articles.  The  pedler  then 
said, 

i4  My  most  fashionable  little  articles  for  ladies  are 
contained  in  this  box."  It  was  a  beautiful  box  about 
a  foot  square  and  six  inches  deep,  evidently,  from  its 
colours,  (lowers,  and  figures  in  gay  costumes,  a  Paris- 
ian manufacture,.  "  I  bought  the  box  and  the  articles 
in  it  of  Madame  La  Mode,  the  best  milliner  in  the 
Old  Dominion,  lately  arrived  from  the  old  countries," 
said  Job.  "  The  prices  of  the  articles,  the  uses  of 
which  I'm  sure  I  don't  know,  are  all  marked  upon 
them  by  the  lady  herself.  She  told  me  the  ladies 
would  know  what  they  are  for.  Open  the  box,  young 


290  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

ladies,  examine  them,  and  take  such  as  you  have  any 
use  for,  at  the  prices  marked  on  them." 

The  young  ladies  pounced  upon  the  box,  and,  turn- 
ing away  from  John  Glover,  at  whom  the  pedler  wink- 
ed very  slyly,  had  no  sooner  opened  it  than  Mary  was 
heard  to  exclaim, 

"  Well,  did  you  ever !     I  declare  !  ha_!  ha!  ha!" 

"Hush,  hush!"  whispered  Matilda;  "you'll  excite 
the  curiosity  of  your  brother." 

"  Treason,  treason  !"  cried  John  Glover,  as  the  girls 
whipped  several  things  out  of  the  box  into  their  bo- 
soms— unseen  recesses,  as  the  old  ladies  tell  me,  at 
that  day.  "  I  shall  have  you  taken  up,  Mr.  Terry,  for 
aiding  and  abetting  the  enemy,  and  supplying  them 
with  concealed  weapons  in  their  war  upon  the  male 
sex." 

The  girls  closed  the  box  in  a  moment,  and  as  Ma- 
tilda handed  it  to  Job  Terry,  Mary  Glover  whispered 
in  his  ear, 

"  The  money's  in  the  box.  Pray,  Mr.  Terry,  don't 
let  John  or  any  of  the  young  gentlemen  be  poking 
their  impudent  eyes  into  it." 

"  I  won't,  I  won't,"  replied  Job  in  an  audible  whis- 
per. "  I've  never  looked  in  it  myself  hardly"  smiling 
and  winking  at  Mary. 

"  Get  out,  you  old  deceiver,"  said  she,  giving  him  a 
gentle  tap  on  the  face  with  her  pretty  little  white  hand. 

Our  curiosity  was  as  much  excited  about  the  con- 
tents of  that  box  as  John  Glover's,  but  to  this  day  we 
have  never  been  able  to  discover  or  divine  what  it  con- 
tained, and  we  would  willingly  give  any  young  lady  half 
a  dozen  kisses — candy  kisses,  of  course,  we  mean — 
who  will  tell  us.  When  the  young  ladies  had  finished 
their  purchases,  Matilda  handed  Job  an  old  English 
guinea  in  payment.  He  looked  at  it  closely,  and 
weighed  it  on  the  tip  of  his  little  finger. 

"A  good  English  piece,"  said  he;  "such  yellow 
boys  are  scarce  out  here — of  good  weight.  I  should 
know  it  among  a  thousand  from  this  mark  on  the  edge," 
and  he  handed  it  to  John  Glover,  who  was  eyeing  it 


THE    RESCUE.  291 

with  curiosity.  After  examining  it,  he  handed  it  to 
his  sister,  who  looked  at  it,  and  returned  it  to  Job 
Terry,  who  said  to  Matilda, 

"  Your  purchases,  Miss  Ballenger,  come  to  twenty- 
two  shillings;  here  is  your  change,  and  I  am  much 
obliged  to  you,  young  ladies,  and  to  you,  Mr.  Glover." 

Isaac  Forster,  who  was  sitting  in  the  porch,  saw 
everything  that  passed,  and  heard  every  word,  although 
he  seemed  to  be  occupied  in  reading  the  newspaper. 
Mr.  Glover  and  his  sister  took  leave  of  Matilda,  and  bid- 
ding Mr.  Forster  good-evening  as  they  passed  through 
the  porch,  mounted  their  horses  and  rode  away.  Mr. 
Forster  had  ordered  his  horse  to  be  brought  out,  but 
he  still  seemed  to  be  poring  over  the  newspaper.  Job 
Terry  packed  up  his  goods,  and  when  Matilda  saw 
him  preparing  to  fasten  his  pack  on  his  back,  she  in- 
vited him  to  stay  all  night ;  but  he  declined  her  invita- 
tion, and  just  as  twilight  set  in  he  bade  her  farewell 
and  departed.  Mr.  Ballenger  met  him  in  the  yard. 
They  went  in  together  at  the  back  door  of  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger's  room,  and  immediately  after  the  pedler  went  his 
way. 

Matilda  had  gone  to  her  chamber  with  her  little 
purchases,  and  Mr.  Ballenerer  came  into  the  sitting- 
room,  approached  the  chimney-piece,  and  then  went 
out  again  at  the  back  door  of  his  room.  Forster  im- 
mediately rose  from  his  seat,  entered  the  room,  laid 
the  newspaper  on  the  mantelpiece,  and  departed. 
The  relation  of  these  minute  circumstances  has  been 
tedious  to  us,  and  we  have  no  doubt  have  been  unin- 
teresting and  tiresome  to  our  readers,  but  the  events 
which  followed  them  render  it  necessary  to  make 
tin-in  known,  as  they  are  all  intimately  connected  with 
very  important  parts  of  our  narrative. 


2-32  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 


CHAPTER  XXXIL 

THE  next  morning  Mr.  Ballenger  was  quite  unwell, 
and  did  not  get  up  to  breakfast.  While  Matilda  was 
arranging  the  things  on  the  breakfast-table,  she  saw 
Uncle  'Tom  in  earnest  conversation  with  a  man  on 
horseback  at  the  gate,  who  immediately  after  rode 
away  at  full  gallop.  Thomas  ran  to  the  house,  exhib- 
iting signs  of  amazement  and  sorrow,  rushed  into  the 
room  where  his  young  mistress  was,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Oh  Lor' !  missus,  somebody  has  gone  kilt  Massa 
Job  Terry,  de  pedler.  He's  layin'  in  de  road,  dat  man 
says,  jist  below  our  fence,  stone  dead.  He's  a  ridin' 
round  collectin'  de  neighbours  for  to  hab  a  rinquest  on 
de  body.  I  told  him  my  massa  was  onwell,  and  hadn't 
got  up,  so  he  rode  on." 

Matilda  was  very  much  shocked  at  this  horrible 
news,  which  was  true.  She  trembled  excessively,  and 
felt  a  strange  fear  creeping  over  her.  As  soon  as  she 
recovered  strength  to  walk  she  hastened  to  her  father's 
chamber,  and  communicated  to  him  the  sad  intelli- 
gence. He  expressed  great  astonishment  and  sorrow, 
and  seemed  anxious  to  get  up,  but  his  daughter  pre- 
vailed on  him  to  remain  in  bed,  for  she  saw,  from  his 
looks,  that  he  was  feverish,  and  had  spent  a  restless 
niijht.  She  offered  to  bring  him  something  to  eat  or 
drink,  but  he  refused  to  taste  anything,  and  Uncle  Tom 
took  away  the  untouched  food  from  the  breakfast-table. 
In  a  very  .short  time  several  men  were  seen  passing 
down  the  road,  and  directly  afterward  a  man  came  up 
the  road,  stopped  at  the  gate,  and  inquired  for  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger. Uncle  Tom  told  him  his  master  was  sick  in 
bed,  and  if  he  wanted  to  see  him,  he  might  get  down 
and  go  into  the  house.  The  man  seemed  at  a  loss 
what  to  do  ;  he,  however,  after  a  little  time,  rode  away, 
saying, "  If  he's  sick  in  bed,  he  can't  serve  on  the  jury." 


THE    RESCUE.  293 

Uncle  Tom  returned  to  the  house,  went  to  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger's  room,  and  reported  to  his  master  and  Matilda 
what  the  man  said.  Mr.  Ballenger  got  up  and  dressed, 
and  ordered  his  horse,  with  the  intention  of  riding  to 
the  place  where  he  supposed  the  coroner's  inquest  was 
assembling ;  but  Matilda  entreated  him  not  to  go,  say- 
ing they  could  certainly  find  persons  whose  health 
would  permit  them  to  perform  the  duties  of  jurymen 
without  the  danger  of  being  made  ill ;  that  he  was  very 
weak  and  feverish,  and  in  no  condition  to  exercise  his 
mind  or  body  in  so  serious  a  public  service.  He  yield- 
ed to  her  entreaties,  and  lay  down  again  on  his  bed 
till  about  two  or  three  o'clock  in  the  evening,  when, 
feeling  better,  he  walked  into  the  porch  and  sat  down. 
He  was  scarcely  seated,  when  four  men  rode  up  to  the 
gate,  alighted  from  their  horses,  entered  the  yard  gale, 
and  walked  up  to  the  porch. 

"  Walk  in,  gentlemen,"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  and 
take  seats." 

They  entered  tha  porch,  but  remained  standing,  and 
one  of  them  stepped  up  to  Mr.  Ballenger,  and  handing 
him  a  paper,  said, 

"  It  is  my  disagreeable  duty,  sir,  to  arrest  you,  at 
the  suit  of  the  commonwealth,  for  the  murder  of  Job 
Terry." 

"  Me  /"  said  Mr.  Ballenger,  "  me  !  for  the  murder 
of  Job  Terry  ?" 

"Yes,  sir,"  repeated  the  officer;  "read  the  war- 
rant." Mr.  Ballenger  read  the  paper.  "  Here's  an- 
other, sir  ;  a  search-warrant  also." 

Mr.  Ballenger  handed  the  man  his  keys,  and  said, 

"  Perform  your  duty,  sir." 

The  officer  and  another  man  went  into  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger's  chamber,  and  examined  the  contents  of  his  desk, 
while  the  two  other  men  remained  with  Mr.  Ballenger 
in  the  porch.  The  officer  soon  returned,  and  his  mel- 
ancholy looks — for  he  was  a  benevolent,  kind  hearted 
man — indicated  but  too  plainly  that  he  had  found  what 
the  warrant  directed  him  to  search  for,  and  that  the 
probability  of  Mr.  Ballenger's  guilt  was  confirmed. 


204  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

Stunned  and  shocked  as  he  was,  Mr.  Ballenger  retain- 
ed his  self-possession.  He  requested  to  be  permitted 
to  see  his  dangler  and  servants.  The  officer  told 
him  he  was  very  sorry  that  his  duty  forced  him  to 
keep  him  in  his  custody,  and  that  he  could  not  permit 
him  to  leave  his  presence  or  go  out  of  his  sight,  but 
that  he  would  either  have  them  sent  for,  or  would  ac- 
company him  to  where  they  were.  Mr.  Ballenger 
preferred  the  latter,  and  they  went  to  Matilda's  cham- 
ber. They  found  her  reading  the  Bible,  profoundly 
ignorant  of  what  had  just  taken  place.  Her  father 
broke  the  matter  to  his  daughter  in  the  most  gentle 
terms  that  the  nature  of  the  case  admittted. 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  describe  the  scene  that  fol- 
lowed ;  we  must  leave  it  to  the  imagination  of  our 
readers.  No  adequate  idea  even  can  be  formed  of  the 
astonishment,  horror,  and  poignant  distress  that  over- 
whelmed her.  without  reflecting  on  her  own  innocency 
and  purity  of  character,  and  on  the  confiding  affection 
she  entertained  for  her  father;  her  admiration  of  his 
lofty  principles  ;  her  veneration  of  his  virtuous  life  ; 
her  thorough  conviction  of  his  hatred  for  sin,  and  his 
entire  devotion  to  the  faith  and  practice  of  a  Chris- 
tian. It  had  never  once  presented  itself  to  her  mind 
as  among  possible  things  that  a  charge  of  crime  could 
be  preferred  against  her  father.  She  had  read  in 
books  of  romance  of  crimes  being  charged  upon  good 
men  ;  but  in  real  life  she  had  no  idea  that  it  ever  hap- 
pened. How,  then,  could  she  realize  it  in  regard  to 
her  own  father  1  When  the  first  tide  of  the  torrent  of 
mingled  emotions  began  to  subside,  she  threw  herself 
on  her  father's  neck,  exclaiming,  amid  her  agonizing 
sobs  and  bitter  tears, 

"  Never,  never,  my  father !  they  shall  not  tear  you 
from  me.  Oh  !  sir,  he  is  not  guilty — no,  no,  he  never 
harboured  the  thought  of  a  crime  in  his  life.  Oh !  sir, 
believe  me,  he  is  innocent — he  is  innocent;  do  not — 
do  not  carry  him  away.  He  is  ill — very  ill — you  will 
kill  him." 

Her  lather  attempted  to  soothe,  to  comfort  her ;  he 


THE    RESCUE.  295 

reasoned,  he  remonstrated ;  he  assured  her  that  her 
fears  were  idle,  her  apprehensions  groundless  ;  that 
his  innocence  would  be  clearly  established  ;  that  his 
confinement  would  be  temporary,  and  their  separation 
only  for  a  few  hours  ;  that,  in  all  human  probability, 
the  magistrate  before  whom  he  had  to  appear  would 
undoubtedly  discharge  him.  She  became  calmer. 
Her  face  was  alternately  flushed  and  pale  as  death. 
Her  bosom  heaved  with  fearful  violence,  and  she 
gasped  for  every  breath  which  she  drew.  Thomas 
heard  her  sobs,  and  he  and  Charlotte,  the  hired  wom- 
an, came  to  the  door. 

"  What  de  matter,  massa,  wid  Miss  Mattie?" 

"  Nothing  but  a  mistake,  Thomas.  Saddle  my 
horse ;  I  have  to  leave  her  only  for  a  short  time,  to 
satisfy  the  magistrate  that  I  had  nothing  to  do  with  the 
death  of  Job  Terry." 

"  Who  said  you  did.  massa  ?  dat  man  dat  says  so 
ain't  fiuiri'  to  live — de  trufe  ain't  in  him.  Don't  you 
mind  'em,  Miss  MaLtie  ;  dey  ain't  gwiue  to  hurt  a  hair 
ob  his  head.  It's  all  a  lie,  and  God  knows  it,  dat.  he 
does." 

"  Thomas,"  said  his  master,  "  bring  my  horse  to  the 
gate,  and  take  another  and  ride  quickly  to  Mr.  Glover's, 
and  present  my  compliments  to  Mr.  John  Glover  and 
Miss  Mary,  and  request  them  to  come  over  immediate 
ly  and  stay  with  my  daughter  till  my  return." 

"  Yes,  sar,"  said  Thomas. 

"  Father,"  said  Matilda,  "  I  must  go  with  you  ;  1 
shall  never  see  you  again.  You  will  be  ill,  sir,  very 
ill.  Oh  !  sir,  let  him  stay  here,  and  if  it  be  necessary, 
stay  with  him.  Father,  you  will  not  leave  me,  will 
you  ?" 

"  My  daughter,  the  law  must  be  obeyed.  Let  us 
trust  in  the  Supreme  Lawgiver  of  the  universe.  My 
deare-t  child,  be  composed  ;  I  shall  be  with  you  again 
in  a  few  hours.  Your  brother  may  arrive  in  rny  ab- 
sence—  at  farthest  by  to-morrow  ;  stay  here  to  receive 
him — to  inform  him  of  what  has  happened;  and  if  1 


296  NEW  HOPE;  OB, 

should  not  return  to-night,  you  can  accompany  him  to 
where  I  may  be." 

Mr.  Ballenger  carefully  avoided  using  the  word 
prison ;  he  knew  'that  word  would  determine  her  to 
go  with  him.  After  some  time,  he  tore  himself  from 
the  arms  of  his  child,  called  Charlotte,  gave  her  a  few 
brief  directions,  and  departed  with  the  officers  of  the 
law.  Oh !  how  his  heart  bled  for  the  sufferings  of 
that  daughter.  He  gave  not  a  thought  to  his  own  sit- 
uation. The  idea  of  danger  to  his  own  life  was  not 
entertained  for  one  moment.  He  knew  nothing  of  the 
extraordinary  chain  of  events  which  induced  the  coro- 
ner's jury  to  find  him  guilty  of  the  murder  of  the  ped- 
ler,  and  that  officer  to  issue  a  warrant  for  his  appre- 
hension. He  imagined  that  a  mere  vague  suspicion, 
growing  out  of  the  circumstances  of  the  pedler's  hav- 
ing been  at  his  house  late  in  the  evening  before,  and 
of  his,  body  being  found  near  his  place  of  residence, 
was  the  only  ground  of  their  action.  In  this  he  was 
greatly  mistaken,  as  a  brief  relation  of  the  circumstan- 
ces of  the  inquest  will  show. 

Two  men,  riding  early  in  the  morning  after  the  day 
that  the  pedler  left  Mr.  Ballenger's,  up  the  road  to 
Simpson's  store,  discovered  the  body  of  the  pedler  ly- 
ing in  the  edge  of  the  road,  with  his  pack  fastened  on 
his  back.  They  dismounted,  and  found  that  the  man 
was  dead.  One  of  them  agreed  to  stay  near  the  body 
while  the  other  should  give  the  alarm  to  the  neigh- 
bours, a  number  of  whom  were  soon  collected  on  the 
ground,  and  the  coroner  was  sent  for,  whom  the 
messenger  met  not  a  mile  from  the  place.  A  jury 
was  empannelled  and  sworn,  and  they  proceeded  to 
examine  the  body.  It  was  known  by  every  one  of  the 
jurors  to  be  the  body  of  Job  Terry.  A  slight  contusion 
was  first  observed  on  the  side  of  the  head,  which  Doc- 
tor Osserraxe  declared  could  not  have  caused  the  death 
of  the  man,  as  the  concussion  had  not  bruised  the 
muscle  down  to  the  os  parietal,  and  there  was  no  de- 
pression or  fracture  of  that  part  of  the  cranium.  The 
doctor  said  he  would  not  examine  the  internal  cavity 


THE   RESCUE.  297 

of  the  cranium  till  the  body  was  denuded,  as  there 
might  be,  and  probably  were,  fiom  the  sanguineous  ef- 
fusions on  his  habiliments,  other  external  lesions  01 
punctures,  which  might  have  produced  the  extinction 
of  vitality.  On  stripping  off  the  clothes,  two  wounds 
in  the  left  side  were  seen.  The  doctor  examined  and 
probed  them,  and  declared  that  these  wounds  or  punc- 
tures were  deep  incisions  between  the  quintal  und 
sextal  sternal  costac.  penetrating  through  the  intercos- 
tal muscles  into  the  thorax,  through  the  pericardium, 
and  terminating  in  the  sinistral  lobe  of  the  cordal  vis- 
cus,  commonly  called  the  heart ;  that,  in  his  opinion, 
these  incisions  were  caused  by  the  forcible  impinge- 
ment and  intrusion  of  some  acute  metallic  instrument, 
the  longitude  or  length  of  which  may  have  been  not 
less  than  five  inches,  and  its  latitude  or  breadth  at  its 
maximum  lateral  extremity  not  less  than  three  fourths 
of  an  inch  ;  that  it  was  his  opinion  these  punctures,  in- 
dependently of  the  efflux  of  the  sanguineous  fluid,  both 
venous  and  arterial,  caused  by  them,  produced  the  ex- 
tinction of  the  vital  action,  or,  in  common  parlance,  the 
death  of  the  man.  "  For,"  said  the  doctor,  "  in  the 
whole  course  of  a  very  extensive  practice,  I  have  nev- 
er known  a  man  to  survive  or  recover  from  such  wounds. 
I  may  have  met  with  such  cases  in  the  course  of  my 
reading,  gentlemen ;  but,  then,  it  must  be  remarked, 
and  1  am  sorry  to  say  it,  that  there  are  in  medical 
books  such  things  as  false  facts." 

While  the  examination  of  the  body  was  going  on, 
persons  were  walking  around  in  all  directions,  to  see 
if  any  discoveries  connected  with  the  death  of  the  man 
could  be  made.  At  some  distance  from  the  body, 
down  by  the  river  and  behind  a  rock,  a  white  cambric 
handkerchief  was  found  sticking  to  a  brier,  as  if  the 
brier  had  caught  in  it  while  sticking  out  of  the  pocket 
of  some  one,  and  had  pulled  it  out.  On  the  handker- 
chief were  stains  of  blood.  It  was  marked  on  the 
corner  Ed.  Ballenger,  No.  7 ;  at  the  same  place,  con- 
cealed beneath  a  stone  and  covered  with  loose  earth 
a  dirk  or  stiletto  was  discovered.  It  was  a  beautiful 
13 


298  NEW  HOPE  ;  on, 

and  costly  instrument,  was  very  bloody,  and  had  the 
initials  E.  B.  on  the  handle.  The  doctor  inserted  it 
into  the  wounds,  and  it  was  plain  to  every  one  of  the 
jury  that  the  mortal  wounds  were  inflicted  with  that 
dirk.  Two  of  the  jurors  asserted  that  they  had  seen 
that  instrument  on  the  chimney-piece  at  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger's, and  Mr.  Forster  deposed  that  he  had  seen  it 
there  a  few  minutes  only  before  the  pedler  left  Mr. 
Ballenger's  house  the  evening  before  ;  that  he  saw 
Mr.  Ballenger  go  to  the  chimney-piece  and  take  some- 
thing bright  from  it,  which  he  supposed,  at  the  time,  to 
be  his  spectacles  ;  but  going  there  shortly  afterward 
to  lay  away  a  newspaper  he  had  been  reading,  the 
dirk  was  not  there,  arid  Mr.  Ballenger  did  not  return 
to  the  house  while  he  remained  there,  which  was  only 
for  a  few  minutes  after  he  placed  the  newspaper  on 
the  chimney-piece.  It  was  strange,  very,  he  said, 
but  he  could  not  believe  it  possible  that  such  a  gentle- 
man as  Mr.  Ballenger  would  kill  a  man  for  his  money. 
The  jury  whispered  arid  looked  very  grave. 

"  Does  any  one  know  whether  the  pedler  had  any 
money  ?"  inquired  a  juror. 

"  John  Glover  and  Miss  Ballenger  paid  him  money 
yesterday,"  said  Mr.  Forster. 

His  pack  and  person  were  examined,  and  no  money 
was  found.  Isaac  stated  that  he  now  recollected  Miss 
Ballenger  paid  the  pedler  an  English  guinea,  which 
Mr.  John  Glover  and  his  sister  examined  as  a  sort  of 
curiosity,  and  perhaps  could  identify  if  it  were  found. 
For  this  the  search-warrant  was  issued.  Mr.  Simpson 
said  that  Mr.  Ballenger  told  him  that  morning  that  he 
had  no  change,  and  wanted  to  get  some  to  pay  the 
pedler.  The  jury  brought  in  a  verdict  of  murder 
against  Edward  Ballenger.  The  coroner  issued  his 
warrant  for  his  apprehension,  and  a  search-warrant  for 
the  guinea  was  issued  by  a  magistrate  who  was  pres- 
ent at  the  inquest.  The  guinea  described,  with  other 
specie  not  described,  was  found  in  Mr.  Ballenger's 
desk  by  the  sheriff'. 

The  magistrate  before   whom  Mr.   Ballenger  was 


THE    RESCUE.  299 

carried  for  examination  committed  him  to  jail,  and  the 
examining  court,  a  few  days  after,  sent  him  on  for 
trial  to  the  jail  of  the  Superior  Court  of  the  district,  at 
Lewisburg,  in  Greenbrier  county.  Conscious  of  his 
innocence,  he  now  was  fully  aware  of  the  imminent 
peril  in  which  his  life  was  placed  by  the  strong  chain 
of  circumstantial  evidence  that  was  presented  oeforo 
the  committing  magistrate.  He  saw  no  probability  of 
escape  from  the  danger  that  menaced  him  but  from  the 
voluntary  confession  of  the  real  assassin,  whoever  he 
might  be ;  a  thing  most  improbable,  and  not  to  be  ex- 
pected. The  suspicion  of  some  black  conspiracy 
against  him  flashed  across  his  mind.  His  own  dirk 
had  been  used,  and  the  handkerchief  which  he  knew 
had  been  in  his  pocket  that  evening  was  found  near 
the  dirk,  where  he  had  not  been  during  the  day.  He 
knew  that  he  could  not  have  lost  it  out  of  his  own 
yard.  None  but  John  Glover,  Isaac  Forster,  or  the 
pedler  himself  could  have  come  into  the  possession  of 
the  dirk  and  handkerchief.  Miss  Glover,  the  females 
of  his  own  family,  and  Uncle  Tom,  he  could  not  en- 
tertain the  slightest  suspicion  against.  He  believed 
it  utterly  improbable,  too,  that  John  Glover,  so  well 
disposed,  open-hearted,  and  friendly  to  his  family  and 
himself,  could  be  concerned  in  so  foul  a  crime. 

His  suspicions  settled  down  on  Isaac  Forster.  But 
he  was  entirely  at  a  loss  to  conjecture  any  adequate 
motive  which  that  man  could  have  for  the  commission 
of  such  crimes  against  himself.  His  first  strong  preju- 
dices (shall  we  call  them  ?)  excited  by  Ben  Bramble 
had  been  nearly  effaced  by  the  kind  and  friendly  con- 
duct of  Mr.  Forster.  Could  it  be  possible  that  all 
these  seemingly  kind  actions  had  been  preconcerted 
parts  of  a  premeditated  plan  of  treacherous  villany  ? 
Could  it  be  possible  that  Ben  Bramble's  estimate  of 
Mr.  Forster's  character  was  correct  ?  That  this 
wealthy,  respected,  popular,  industrious  man  was  a 
villain  of  the  deepest  dye — a  fiend  in  human  form  ? 
But  what  possible  motive  could  urge  him  to  the  com- 
mission of  such  horrible  crimes  ?  What  could  he  gain 


300  KEW  HOPE;  OR, 

by  them  ?  What  end  would  be  gained,  what  passion 
gratified?  This  was  a  mystery  which  Mr.  Ballenger 
could  not  fathom ;  a  labyrinth  out  of  which  he  had  no 
clew  to  guide  him.  We  must  leave  him  revolving 
these  inexplicable  difficulties  in  his  mind,  and  return 
to  New  Hope. 

After  the  departure  of  her  father  with  the  officers  of 
the  law,  Matilda  threw  herself  on  her  knees,  and  pour- 
ed out  her  heart  in  fervent  supplications  to  the  God  of 
all  mercies.  With  what  earnest  entreaty,  with  what 
pathetic  words  did  she  address  his  throne  of  grace  ! 
With  what  powerful  appeals  did  she  approach  the  cross 
of  her  bleeding  Saviour,  and  cry  for  mercy — mercy  to 
her  father,  her  unhappy  arid  oppressed,  but  innocent 
father,  and  bis  enemies,  who  imagined  evil  against  him, 
and  the  murderers  of  Job  Terry  I  Oh,  with  what  im- 
passioned eloquence  did  she  entreat  her  heavenly  Fa- 
ther to  forgive  them,  to  grant  them  true  repentance,  to 
change  their  obdurate  hearts  from  hearts  of  stone  to 
hearts  of  flesh  !  "O  thou  most  merciful  Saviour,  who, 
in  thine  agony  on  the  cross,  didst  cry,  '  Father,  forgive 
them,  for  they  know  not  what  they  do,'  forgive  the 
enemies  of  thy  servant,  my  father.  Oh,  remember  what 
thou  didst  suffer  for  sinful  men,  and  save  them  from 
their  sins  ;  and  my  brother,  my  dear  brother,  away 
from  us,  and  ignorant  of  our  distresses — save  him  from 
them.  Oh,  return  him  soon  and  safely  to  us — protect, 
and  bless,  and  save  him  with  an  everlasting  salvation." 
Herself  only  did  she  seem  to  forget.  Noble,  gener- 
ous, and  pious  girl !  She  arose  from  her  knees,  and 
taking  the  New  Testament  in  her  hands,  and  clasping 
it  between  them,  laid  herself  down  on  her  bed.  There 
she  remained  till  the  dusk  of  the  evening,  when  she 
was  roused  from  a  state  of  dozy  stupor  by  Uncle  Tom's 
voice  at  the  door  of  her  chamber.  He  said, 

"  Massa  John  Glover  an'  Miss  Mary  ain't  at  home  ; 
but  de  ole  gemman  give  his  compliments,  an'  say  he 
will  send  'um  up  tirecly  dey  cum  home  to-morrow." 

"  Very  well,  Uncle  Tom,  it  makes  no  odds  ;  you 
and  Charlotte  are  with  me,  and  I'm  not  afraid  with  you 
in  my  father's  house." 


TUB    RESCUE.  301 

So  saying,  Matilda  arose,  put  on  her  bonnet,  and 
walked  down  to  the  river  in  front  of  the  house.  The 
distance  was  not  more  than  a  hundred  paces.  She 
crossed  the  road  running  by  the  yard  gate,  and  paral- 
lel to  the  river.  The  smooth,  shady  bank  of  the  river 
was  her  favourite  promenade  ;  scarcely  an  evening 
passed  in  which  she  might  not  be  seen  walking  there, 
either  with  a  book  or  flowers  in  her  hand.  Though 
it  was  getting  rather  dark  to  read,  the  book  which  she 
had  in  her  hand  when  she  lay  down  was  still  pressed 
to  her  bosom  as  she  walked  along. 

Uncle  Tom  busied  himself  about  the  supper-table, 
hoping  to  induce  her  to  eat  something.  When  his 
preparations  were  concluded,  he  went  out  through  the 
gate  to  call  her  to  supper.  But  on  looking  towards  the 
river,  he  could  see  nothing  of  her.  He  called,  but  she 
did  not  answer.  He  then  walked  briskly  down  to  the 
bank.  The  river  was  still  full  and  muddy,  from  recent 
rains  in  the  mountains  ;  but  as  the  stream  had  fallen 
several  feet,  the  margin  was  soft  and  slippery.  There 
was  barely  light  enough  to  distinguish  small  objects  a 
few  yards  off.  He  had  scarcely  reached  the  bank 
when  he  saw  one  of  her  shoes  near  the  edge  of  the 
water  on  the  steep  inclined  plane,  and  above  it  the  im- 
pression of  having  slipped  down  from  the  top  of  the 
bank  ;  and  just  below  her  bonnet  was  dangling  in  the 
water,  caught  by  the  pliant  branches  of  a  willow  droop- 
ing over  the  stream  where  it  was  at  least  ten  feet  deep. 

The  old  man  uttered  a  loud  cry,  and  plunged  into  the 
water.  Again  and  again  rising  to  the  surface,  and  strug- 
gling against  the  current,  he  sought  to  find  her  in  the 
deep  water  under  and  around  the  bonnet ;  at  last,  quite 
exhausted,  he  with  difficulty  reached  the  bank,  and 
crawled  up  it  with  the  bonnet  in  his  hand.  As  soon 
as  he  had  recovered  breath  to  speak,  he  began  to  utter 
loud  cries.  Charlotte  heard  him,  and  ran  down  to 
where  he  was  ;  and  Mr.  Simpson,  who  was  riding 
down  the  road,  galloped  to  the  spot.  He  saw  at  once, 
on  getting  down,  the  wet  bonnet  and  the  shoe,  and  the 
few  incoherent  and  interrupted  words  of  the  afflicted 


302  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

old  man  told  the  melancholy  tale.  Again  this  faithful 
servant  threw  himself  into  the  water,  and  dived  down. 
He  came  up  so  exhausted  that  Mr.  Simpson  vviih  diffi- 
culty drew  him  up  on  the  bank  when  he  reached  it. 

"  it's  all  in  vain,  Uncle  Tom,"  said  he  ;  "  this  swift 
water  has  carried  her  body  far  away.  It  will  never 
be  seen  again  near  this  place." 

Charlotte  and  Mr.  Simpson  could  hardly  get  him  to 
the  house.  His  lamentations,  cries,  arid  groans  mani- 
fested his  great  grief  and  anguish  of  heart.  They 
placed  him  on  the  steps  of  the  porch,  where  he  sat 
wringing  his  hands  and  weeping  aloud.  Suddenly  he 
rose  to  his  feet,  as  if  recollecting  something,  and  cried 
out, 

"  I  must  go  to  massa.     Oh,  I  must  go  to  massa." 

"  No,"  said  Mr.  Simpson,  with  a  tone  of  authority, 
"you  shall  do  no  such  thing,  Thomas.  You  must 
stay  here  and  take  care  of  his  house  and  property  till 
he  returns,  or  your  young  Master  William.  I  am  go- 
ing where  your  master  is,  and  will  let  him  know  all 
that  has  happened.  God  bless  the  poor  gentleman, 
even  if  he  were  guilty,  which  I  don't  believe  ;  the  law 
will  never  do  execution  on  him  —  the  death  of  his 
daughter  will  kill  him.  Thomas,  you  must  stay  here  ; 
and  the  moment  Master  William  arrives,  you  must  send 
him  to  his  father." 

Mr.  Simpson  then  took  Charlotte  aside,  and  charged 
her  not  to  leave  the  old  man  out  of  her  sight  till  his 
grief  abated,  and  to  find  something  constantly  for  him 
to  do.  He  then  gave  her  some  general  instructions 
about  the  care  of  the  property,  advising  her  to  get  one 
of  the  hired  men,  in  the  morning,  to  go  and  ask  old 
Mr.  Glover  to  come  over  to  see  Uncle  Tom,  and  to  ad- 
vise him  what  was  best  to  be  done.  Mr.  Simpson  then 
rode  away. 

The  next  day,  Mr.  Ballenger,  in  prison,  received  the 
intelligence  of  the  sad  fate  of  his  daughter.  We  dare 
not  intrude  on  the  sorrows  of  his  soul,  much  less  shall 
we  attempt  to  say  how  deep  and  dreadful  they  were. 
What  he  felt  and  what  he  suffered  can  be  known  onlv 


THE    RESCUE.  303 

to  the  Searcher  of  all  hearts.  The  report  of  the  mur- 
der of  Job  Terry,  the  arrest  of  Mr.  Ballenger,  and  of  the 
death  of  his  daughter,  spread  all  over  the  country;  and 
the  opinions  of  the  people  were  as  much  divided  as  to 
his  guilt  or  innocence  (so  strong  was  the  evidence 
against  him,  and  so  favourable  the  sentiments  of  the 
people  in  regard  to  his  character)  as  they  were  about 
the  remote  cause  of  his  daughter's  death.  Most  per- 
sons attributed  it  to  accident,  but  not  a  few  to  a  de- 
sign, by  suicide,  to  end  her  sorrow  for  ..her  father's 
fate.  This  was  a  more  favourable  construction  than 
that  she  had  committed  the  act  to  avoid  the  shame  of 
his  condemnation,  to  which  others  did  not  hesitate  to 
attribute  it.  Others  put  a  still  more  cruel  construction 
on  it — that  she  had  drowned  herself  to  avoid  the  ne- 
cessity of  giving  evidence  against  hi:r  father. 

All  these  surmises  reached  his  ears.  However  much 
he  was  afflicted  and  overwhelmed  by  his  own  position 
and  the  intelligence  of  his  daughter's  death,  he  enter- 
ained  not  a  doubt,  for  one  moment,  as  to  its  cause  or 
manner.  He  felt  assured  that  it  was  purely  accident- 
al, and  considered  any  other  supposition  an  unjust  and 
cruel  indignity  to  her  memory.  He  was  spared  the 
pang  that  even  a  doubt  on  that  subject  would  have 
added  to  a  heart  already  overburdened  with  its  heavy 
weight  of  woes.  But  we  must  leave  Mr.  Ballenger, 
where,  indeed,  we  are  truly  sorry  to  leave  any  good 
man,  in  prison,  and  follow  his  son  to  the  interior  of 
Kentucky. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII. 

WE  left  William  Henry  Ballenger,  in  company 
with  Captain  Richard  Terrell,  at  the  mouth  of  Big- 
Sandy.  After  leaving  the  tavern  at  that  place,  they 
passed  through  the  rough,  hilly  country,  to  Little 


304  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

Sandy,  and  thence  to  Tigert's  Creek,  a  very  unin- 
viting section  of  the  new  state,  except  to  mineral- 
ogists, geologists,  and  botanists.  Onward  they 
travelled  to  the  waters  of  Licking  River,  seeing 
very  little  change  in  the  general  aspect  of  the  coun- 
try, at  that  time  a  continuous  forest,  unbroken  ex- 
cept by  clearings  of  an  acre  or  two  surrounding 
log-cabins  few  and  far  between.  Sandstone,  iron 
ore,  indications  of  coal  and  salt,  presented  them- 
selves to  their  eyes.  Mr.  Terrell  expatiated  with 
all  his  enthusiastic  eloquence  on  the  prospective 
value  of  these  elements  of  wealth,  utility,  and  conve- 
nience ;  but  William  Henry  began  to  despair  of 
finding  in  Kentucky  the  El  Dorado  of  Eastern  emi- 
grants. 

"  Have  patience,  my  dear  young  friend,"  Mr. 
Terrell  would  say  to  him  when  giving  utterance  to 
his  feelings  of  disappointment.  "  These  hills  and 
rocks  are  but  the  bone  and  sinew  of  the  state ;  we 
shall  soon  see,  to  your  admiration  and  delight,  the 
flesh  and  blood,  the  bloom  and  beauty  of  Virginia's 
eldest  and  fairest  daughter." 

After  passing  Mud  Lick,  where  there  is  as  great 
a  variety  of  mineral  waters  as  at  any  other  spot 
upon  the  globe,  the  appearance  of  the  country  be- 
gan to  change.  They  were  on  the  edge  of  the 
great  basin  of  the  dark  and  bloody  ground.  The 
next  day's  ride  brought  them  into  the  Elk-horn 
paradise — unsurpassed  in  fertility  of  soil  and  beau- 
ty of  surface  by  any  country  in  America,  perhaps 
in  the  world.  They  stopped  at  the  house  of  Mr. 
Hubbard  Taylor,  the  friend  of  Mr.  Terrell,  an  early 
settler  in  Kentucky  from  the  Old  Dominion,  a  gen- 
tleman "  who  derived  the  patent  of  his  honours 
from  God."  William  Henry  was  in  raptures  with 
the  country,  and  delighted  with  the  frank  reception 
which  they  received  from  their  kind  and  hospitable 
host. 

"Now,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Terrell,  after  supper,  "this 
young  gentleman,  friend  Taylor,  is  the  son  of  a 


THE   RESCUE.  305 

friend  of  mine,  who  has  come  out  to  this  country  to 
ascertain  the  value  of  his  father's  lands,  and  to  see 
them.  From  the  only  information  received  about 
them,  they  are  supposed  to  be  London  surveys,  not 
worth  a  sliver,  which  I  take  to  be  all  a  mistake,  or 
something1  worse.  You  know  the  character  of  the 
lands  in  this  section  well,  no  man  better,  and  can 
give  him  the  information  desired." 

"  What  surveys  are  they  1"  said  Mr.  Taylor  ;  "I 
know  of  none  in  this  neighbourhood  in  the  name 
of  Ballenger.  Where  do  they  lie  1" 

"  Permit  me,  sir,"  said  William  Henry,  "  to  show 
you  the  papers,  for  I  know  so  little  of  such  matters, 
that  I  might  mislead  you  by  verbal  statements;" 
and  he  took  out  and  handed  a  bundle  of  papers  to 
Mr.  Taylor,  who,  after  casting  his  eyes  over  sever- 
al of  them,  which  he  selected  by  the  labels  on  them, 
said, 

"  Hoho  !  They  are  the  lands,  I  see,  lately  held 
by  Smith  and  Bird,  Buchanan  and  Alexander  ;  a 
Mr. — let  me  see — Forster,  yes,  that  is  his  name, 
I  think,  was  their  agent — a  sharp  fellow,  but  a  ras- 
cal, I  believe." 

"That  is  the  name  of  the  man,  sir,"  said  Will- 
iam Henry,  "  from  whom  we  have  derived  our  only 
information  in  relation  to  these  lands." 

"  Well,  what  does  he  say  of  them  1"  said  Mr. 
Taylor. 

"  Why,  sir,  he  has  represented  them  as  almost 
valueless,  worth  nothing,  and  he  pays  my  father  a 
forty-dollar  horse  and  the  taxes  for  the  rent  of  them 
and  other  lands  besides." 

"Pray,  young  gentleman,"  said  Mr.  Taylor,  "if 
it  is  no  secret,  what  did  your  father  give  for  these 
lands  V 

"  Oh,  sir,"  said  William  Henry,  "  it  is  no  secret : 
my  father  very  unwillingly  became  the  owner  of 
these  lands  ;  they  were  the  only  property  convey- 
ed to  him  by  those  merchants  of  Alexandria,  in  re- 
payment of  sixty  thousand  dollars  which  he  had 
paid  as  an  endorser  for  them." 
13* 


306  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  Sixty  thousand  dollars,  young-  man  ;  why,  it's 
the  best  bargain  your  father  ever  made.  Those 
parts  of  your  father's  lands  that  I  have  often  seen, 
and  am  well  acquainted  with,  in  Bourbon  and  Fay- 
ette  alone,  are  worth  double  the  money." 

What  a  load  was  taken  from  the  heart  of  Will- 
iam Henry  ! 

"  And  Forster  pays  what,"  continued  Mr.  Taylor, 
"for  the  yearly  rent,  did  you  say1." 

"A  forty-dollar  horse  and  the  taxes.  But  his 
lease  is  out  this  fall.  He  has  repeatedly  applied  to 
my  father  to  renew  it,  and  to  continue  him  as  the 
agent;  but  he  has  declined  the  propositions  of  Mr. 
Forster,  in  consequence,  I  believe,  of  some  hints 
given  him  by  an  honest,  shrewd  hunter  in  our 
neighbourhood,  formerly  a  soldier  under  the  com- 
mand of  Captain  Templeman." 

"Ben  Bramble,  I  guess,"  said  Mr.  Taylor,  "who 
saved  Templeman's  life  ;  as  brave,  honest,  and 
kind-hearted  a  man  as  any  west  of  the  Alleghany." 

"Or  anywhere  else,"  added  Mr.  Terrell.  "I 
know  the  man  well ;  he  was  once  with  Forster  in 
this  country,  carrying  the  chain  for  him  ;  the  most 
dauntless,  intrepid,  active  hunter  I  ever  knew;  as 
true  as  steel,  and  as  tender-hearted  as  a  woman. 
What  he  says  of  his  own  knowledge  may  always 
be  relied  upon  as  certainly  true  ;  my  life  on  the 
honesty  of  that  man,  place  him  where  you  will." 

"Is  it  possible,"  inquired  William  Henry,  "that 
Mr.  Forster  can  know  the  value  of  these  lands''." 

"  Know  !"  answered  Mr.  Taylor  ;  "  why,  he 
knows  as  well  as  I  do — better.  He's  been  on  them 
twenty  times  ;  has  tenants  on  them,  who  pay  him 
high  rents  in  horses,  cattle,  corn,  and  money." 

" jYow  I  know  Mr.  Isaac  Forster"  said  William 
Henry,  "  to  be  a  hypocritical,  dishonest,  unmitiga- 
ted scoundrel." 

"  Come,  come,"  said  Mr.  Terrell,  who  was  lying 
on  his  back  on  the  floor,  making  the  children,  who 
were  crawling  over  him,  cry  by  the  relation  of  pa- 


THE    RESCUE.  307 

thetic  anecdotes,  of  the  dangers,  conflicts,  hair- 
breadth escapes,  and  deaths  of  men,  women,  and 
children  during  the  early  settlements  of  the  West- 
ern country.  Of  these  he  had  a  greater  store  of 
the  most  authentic  in  his  retentive  memory,  and  of 
the  most  marvellous,  than  any  other  man  of  his 
day.  "  Come,  come,  Mr.  Ballenger,  don't  abuse 
our  men  of  business  in  the  West.  You  use  the 
wrong  terms,  sir.  Hypocrite — dishonest — scoun- 
drel— fy !  fy  !  Air.  Isaac  Forster  is  only  what  is 
termed  in  the  West  a  smart  man — a  sharp  fellow—  a 
keen  man  of  business.  He  has  only  kept  the  mer- 
chants whose  agent  he  was,  and  your  father,  whose 
agent  he  wished  to  be,  in  ignorance,  in  order  to 
Ceather  his  own  nest — quite  a  common  affair.  Why, 
friend  Taylor,  I  should  never  have  known  the  value 
of  the  Diamond  Island  if  I  had  not  seen  it  with  my 
own  eyes." 

"But,  sir,"  said  William  Henry,  "Mr.  Forster 
was  their  agent  and  attorney,  and,  consequently, 
bound  by  all  the  laws  of  honour  and  honesty,  not 
only  to  report  truly  to  his  employers,  but  to  act  in 
good  faith  towards  them — to  promote  their  inter- 
ests." 

"Pooh!  my  dear  sir,"  said  Mr.  Terrell,  "that 
'  consequently1  of  yours  is  very  bad  logic — a  down- 
right power  of  attorney,  non-sequitur ;  what  have 
the  laws  of  honour  to  do  with  the  land  laws,  or  the 
laws  of  trade  either1.  One  would  suppose,  to  hear 
you  talk,  that  you  had  been  asleep  for  the  last 
twenty  years,  and  had  just  waked  up,  and  never 
had  heard  of  Kentucky  land-speculators,  agents,  at- 
torneys, et  id  omne  genus,  down  to  a  horse-jockey." 

"Come,  now,  Dick  Terrell,"  said  Mr.  Taylor, 
''don't  try  to  make  this  young  man  believe  that 
there's  no  such  thing  as  honour  and  honesty  in  the 
\\  cst.  We  have  rascals  out  here,  Mr.  Ballenger, 
as  there  are  everywhere.  The  condition  of  our 
country  has  caused  many  of  them  to  flock  to  it, 
and  they  have  corrupted  others;  so  that  common 


308  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

prudence  requires  a  man  to  have  his  wits  about 
him  in  making  bargains,  to  be  on  his  g.uard  in  his 
business  transactions,  especially  in  ascertaining  ti- 
tles to  property  before  he  buys  it.  But  this  a  pru- 
dent man  ought  to  do  in  every  country.  We  are 
not  ail  knaves,  and  hypocrites,  and  swindlers,  and 
treacherous  agents,  Mr.  Ballenger  ;  though  this  fel- 
low Forster,  of  whom  I  never  had  a  favourable  opin- 
ion, may  be,  and  I  incline  to  think  is  one." 

"1  must  write  to  my  father  immediately,"  said 
William  Henry. 

"Wait,"  said  Mr.  Taylor,  "till  you  see  at  least 
some  of  the  lands  with  your  own  eyes,  Mr  Ballen- 
ger. I  will  pilot  you  to  some  of  them  to-morrow 
in  this  county  and  in  Bourbon,  if  you  choose." 

"Thank  you,  sir,"  said  William  Henry;  "how 
fortunate  that  Mr.  Terrell  has  brought  me  to  your 
house!  I  will,  certainly,  and  most  gladly  take  ad- 
vantage of  your  kind  offer  to  show  me  the  hinds. 
Mr.  Terrell  said  yesterday,  as  we  were  riding  alono-, 
'Our  expenses  are  ended  for  this  trip.'  I  did  not 
then  exactly  understand  the. import  of  his  remark." 

"Well,  sir,"  said  Mr.  Terrell,  "you  begin  now  to 
understand,  and  although  you  cannot  be  more  en- 
lightened on  that  subject  anywhere  than  here,  the 
light  of  hospitality  will  shine  on  you  through  the 
length  and  breadth  of  the  land." 

"  That  is  to  say,  young  gentleman,"  interposed 
Mr.  Taylor,  "if  you  travel  in  company  with  Dick 
Terrell,  for  he  is  known  and  welcome,  he  thinks^ 
everywhere." 

"  Thinks"  rejoined  Mr.  Terrell;  "  knou-s,  you 
mean,  friend  Hubbard  ;  and  that  makes  me  pretty 
much  at  my  ease  everywhere,  at  least." 

"Your  diffidence  will  wear  ofT,  Mr.  Ballenger,  in 
this  country,"  said  Mr.  Taylor;  "and  you  will 
learn  to  talk  a  little  more  if  you  associate  with 
Terrell,  and  he  gives  you  a  chance  to  talk  any." 

They  now  went  to  their  chambers,  and  Mr.  Ter- 
rell was  asleep  in  a  short  time.  But  William  Hen- 


THE    RESCUE.  809 

ry  could  not  coax  or  badger  himself  to  sleep.  He 
twisted,  and  fidgeted,  and  turned  over  twenty  times. 
He  would  draw  up  his  feet  and  lay  his  hands  under 
his  head,  and  try  to  lie  still.  That  would  not  last  a 
minute.  He  then  began  to  count,  one — two — 
three,  in  the  most  monotonous  tone  he  could  ;  but 
the  monotony  was  only  on  his  tongue,  not  in  his 
heart.  That  was  beating  strongly  with  varied  emo- 
tions, nil  excited  by  a  few  words  of  Mr.  Taylor: 
"  Sixty  thousand  dollars,  young  man  ;  why,  it's  the  best 
bargain  your  father  ever  made.'1'' 

Our  readers  will  not  do  William  Henry  the  in 
justice  to  suppose  that  the  love  of  money  possessed 
him.  No,  no;  it  was  the  love  of  his  father,  his 
sister,  and  Helen  Templeman.  The  former  would 
now  be  restored  to  their  proper  position  in  social 
life— to  adorn,  to  enjoy,  to  improve  it;  and  Hel- 
en, his  own  dear,  sweet  "  little  Indian  girl,"  as 
Buck  called  her,  would  be  his.  Oh,  what  waking 
dreams  prevented  his  repose  till  late  in  the  small 
hours  of  the  night!  He  was,  however,  up  early  in 
the  morning,  and  after  breakfast,  accompanied  by 
Mr.  Terrell,  and  conducted  by  Mr.  Taylor  through 
the  woods  and  plantations,  he  had  the  satisfaction 
of  sceirio-  with  his  own  eyes  four  tracts  of  his  fa- 
ther's land,  the  smallest  containing  fourteen  hun- 
dred and  fifty  acres,  and  all  of  them  as  fine  land  as 
any  in  Kentucky  ;  and  nothing  more  than  that  need 
be  or  could  be  said  of  any  l;md  anywhere.  They 
found  the  tenants  on  the  clearings  profoundly  ig- 
norant of  the  ownership,  and  everything  else  about 
"these  clarins"  except  that  Mr.  Isaac  Forster  was 
the  agent,  or  owner,  they  did  not  know  or  care 
which.  Clearings  are  no  curiosity  in  America  ;  but 
to  a  European  they  present  a  novel  and  unpleasing 
appearance,  though  they  are  the  first  inroads  of  the 
pioneers  of  civilization  into  the  territories  of  those 
formidable  opponents  of  an  agricultural  population, 
primeval  forests. 

It  is  easy  to  describe  the  individual  objects  in  a 


310  NEW  HOPE;  OK, 

clearing  :  the  log-cabin,  and  rude  shanties  of  rails 
and  puncheons  for  the  domestic  animals  —  the 
stumps  of  the  smaller  trees  bristling  the  roughly- 
ploughed  earth,  the  larger  trees  girdled,  belted,  or 
deadened,  as  the  process  of  cutting  through  the 
bark  entirely  around  the  trunk,  to  kill  the  tree,  is 
termed — the  blackened  and  charred  remains  of  piles 
of  logs  partially  consumed  by  fire — the  worm  fence 
of  split  rails  around  the  whole,  and  under  the  eaves 
of  the  surrounding  forest — but  to  give  the  impres- 
sion made  by  the  perception  of  all  these  objects  to- 
gether by  words  or  the  pen  is  impossible.  The 
pencil  succeeds  better,  but  the  eye  alone  is  the 
avenue  by  which  the  full  impression  can  reach  the 
mind  and  the  heart.  We  never  become  reconciled 
to  its  desolate,  blighted,  and  dreary  appearance  till 
we  reflect  that  it  is  the  necessary  precursor  of 
settlement,  comfort,  civilization,  and  refinement. 
There  were  many  clearings,  from  two  to  twenty 
acres  in  extent,  on  Mr.  Ballenger's  lands.  Mr.  Tay- 
lor called  them  improvements,  and  told  William  Hen- 
ry that  they  would  in  a  few  years  spread  out  into 
line  farms. 

Delighted  with  what  he  had  seen,  TVilliarn  Hen- 
ry immediately,  on  their  return  to  Mr.  Taylor's  late 
in  the  evening,  wrote  to  his  father  The  next 
day  Mr.  Taylor  accompanied  them  to  V-fxington. 
There,  and  in  that  neighbourhood,  Mr.  Terrell  and 
William  Henry  remained  several  days.  Settled 
principally  by  gentlemen  from  the  Old  Doimnion, 
the  beautiful  country  around  the  town  was  already 
the  seat  of  elegant  hospitality  and  liberal  kindness. 
The  people  were  Virginians  in  their  principles, 
manners,  habits,  and  customs.  But  the  circum- 
stances in  which  they  had  been  placed  gave  them 
a  boldness  and  energy,  a  reckless  daring  and  readi- 
ness of  resource,  which  slumbered  now  in  the 
peaceful,  quiet  habitations  east  of  the  mountains. 
The  Indians  had  roused  them  up,  and  kept  them 
wide  awake  in  the  breasts  of  all  those  who  sought 


THE    RESCUE.  31] 

their  fortunes  or  fixed  their  residences  west  of  the  Al- 
leghany  Mountains.  Mr.  Terrell  was  on  terms  of  in- 
timate friendship  with  many  gentlemen  in  the  town  and 
the  surrounding  country.  To  all  their  houses  William 
Henry  was  invited,  and  at  all  he  felt  that  he  w;is  a 
welcome  guest.  Richly  did  he  enjoy  that  enlightened 
hospitality  and  charming  society.  He  wrote  to  his 
sister,  and  declared  that  he  believed,  if  she  could  only 
forget  or  disregard  the  influence  of  early  associations, 
she  would  be  more  pleased  with  Lexington  than  Alex- 
andria. 

They  passed  on  to  Frankfort,  situated  in  a  deep  hol- 
low on  a  bend  in  the  Kentucky  River,  surrounded  by 
wooded  hills.  As  they  descended  the  steep,  rocky 
hills  of  the  eastern  bank  of  the  river  overlooking  the 
town  at  their  feet,  Mr.  Terrell  drew  up  his  horse,  and 
cried  out  to  William  Henry, 

"  Stop,  sir,  and  take  a  good  look  around  and  before 
you.  To  a  man  of  taste  like  you,  my  young  friend, 
this  scene  is  worth  a  longer  ride  than  we  have  taken 
together.  Here  the  grand,  the  beautiful,  the  pictu- 
resque, are  all  united — mountain  and  plain,  wood  and 
water,  cold,  gray  rocks,  and  velvet  verdure.  See  with 
what  a  graceful  curve  the  river  sweeps  around  South 
Frankfort,  the  plain  on  your  left,  and  dashes  against 
this  cliff  on  which  we  are;  then,  as  if  indignant,  turns 
off  to  the  left,  and  half  encircles  the  town  in  its  girdle 
of  silver  ;  opposed  again  in  its  onward  course  by  those 
wooded  mountains  on  the  west,  it  seems  absolutely 
hemmed  in  and  arrested  ;  but  no  ;  wheeling  to  the 
right,  it  passes  through  the  narrow  defile  formed  by  the 
Benson  Hills  on  the  one  side,  and  this  sharp,  high 
promontory  on  your  right,  jutting  almost  into  the  river 
below  the  town,  and  bathing  its  feet  in  the  clear  water. 
That  promontory,  sir,  was  once  united  with  those  high 
hills  above  the  mouth  of  Benson  Creek,  which  you  see, 
there,  creeping  from  the  west  into  the  river  just  below 
the  town,  and  the  Kentucky  River  rolled  its  waters  in 
this  valley  to  your  right,  long  drawn  out  to  the  north, 
now  separated  from  the  present  bed  of  the  river  by  tha 


312  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

promontory.  Obstructed  in  its  sharp,  angular  course 
around  the  rocky  cliff  on  which  we  stand,  its  waters 
accumulated  till  the  plain  of  South  Frankfort  was  a 
deep  lake.  Higher  and  higher  they  rose,  till  the 
mighty  mound  before  them  gave  way,  burst  asunder, 
and  the  rushing  waters  tore  down  the  promontory  to 
its  base,  and  passed  in  majestic  strength  through  the 
breach,  over  the  prostrate  body  of  the  tyrant  that 
had  dared  to  cramp  and  confine  their  course,  leaving 
the  former  channel  a  dry,  fertile  valley.  See  what  a 
quiet,  secluded  spot,  shut  in  by  hills,  arid  h;:lf  sur- 
rounded by  water,  is  the  town  of  Frankfort.  Why,  sir, 
the  people  of  our  country  were  taught  the  lessons  of 
liberty  even  by  their  rivers  ;  and  in  our  Revolutionary 
war — rebellion,  as  Great  Britain  called  it — we  were 
only  carrying  out  the  teachings  of  Nature.  Even  the 
streams  of  America  disdain  to  be  confined  and  cramp- 
ed, in  their  onward  course  of  strength  and  expansion 
to  a  larger  freedom,  by  proud  and  towering  tyrants. 
Opposition  only  accumulates,  increases,  and  renders 
irresistible  their  mighty  masses.  They  rise  up  in  their 
strength,  and  sweep  everything  before  them.  We 
might  have  pointed  Lord  North  and  King  George  to 
the  heights  of  the  Hudson,  Harper's  Ferry,  and  Frank- 
fort, for  the  solution  of  the  political  problem  of  the 
American  Revolution." 

"This  is  indeed  a  scene  of  romantic  and  varied 
beauty  worthy  of  the  poet's  pen  and  painter's  pencil," 
said  William  Henry  ;  "  and  your  observations  on  it 
are  scarcely  less  striking  than  the  scene  itself.  But 
is  there  not  a  little  exercise  of  fancy  in  supposing  that 
the  Kentucky  River  once  ran  in  this  valley  on  our 
right  ?" 

"  None  at  all,"  replied  Mr.  Terrell.  "  The  records 
of  the  event  which  changed  its  channel  are  stamped 
upon  the  face  of  Nature.  Examine  the  substratum  of 
this  valley,  and  you  find  all  the  fluvial  exuvire  of  shells, 
and  fish,  and  water-worn  pebbles  of  such  stone  as  is 
only  found  above  the  three  forks  of  Kentucky  River ; 
examine  the  limestone  rock  on  the  sides  of  this  desert- 


THE    RESCUE.  313 

ed  channel,  where  (he  traces  of  the  attrition  of  the  wa- 
ter have  inscribed  a  geological  alphabet  in  durubU 
characters  as  legible  as  Noah  Webster's  Spelling-book 
examine  the  promontory  and  hills  below  the  town 
the  evidence  which  they  give  of  rupture  and  prostra 
tion  are  as  strong  and  convincing  as  testimony  given 
on  oath  in  a  court  of  justice  by  competent  and  credible 
witnesses  ;  more  so,  for  these  old,  respectable,  passion- 
less witnesses  always  declare  their  real  impressions ; 
and  they  are  true,  because  inefTaceably  made  by  the 
hand  of  the  Almighty." 

Thus  conversing,  they  descended  the  hill,  and  rode 
to  the  mansion  of  Mr.  John  Brown,  the  son  of  Parson 
John  Brown  and  Margaret  Preston,  of  Staunton  in  Vir- 
ginia, the  pupil  of  Thomas  Jefferson,*  and  one  of  the 
first  senators  from  Kentucky  in  Congress — a  man  of 
whom  any  country,  age,  or  nation  might  be  proud — a 
patriot,  statesman,  philanthropist,  and  Christian.  He 
emigrated  to  the  West  as  early  as  1782  or '3,  and  ul- 
timately settled  at  the  beautiful  spot  we  have  attempted 
to  describe.  He  received  Mr.  Terrell,  a  friend  and 
acquaintance,  and  his  young  companion  with  his  ac- 
customed and  characteristic  hospitality.  To  William 
Henry,  whom  his  knowledge  of  mankind,  and  his 
keen,  accurate  discernment  of  character,  discovered  at 
once  to  be  an  estimable  and  accomplished,  well-brought- 
up  young  man,  he  gave  much  useful  information,  and 
some  lessons  of  practical  conduct,  having  particular  re- 
lation to  Kentucky,  that  were  of  great  value. 

William  Henry,  in  writing  to  his  father  from  Frank- 
fort, says  of  Mr.  Brown,  "  He  is  one  of  Nature's  no- 
blemen, made  more  noble  still  by  noble  actions;  ripe 
in  knowledge,  rich  in  experience,  with  a  heart  too  big 
for  his  body,  which  is  by  no  means  a  small  one,  he  is 
one  of  those  men,  sir,  who  arc  born  for  the  benefit  of 
mankind,  and  to  confer  dignity  and  honour  upon  our 
fallen  race.  We  cannot,  my  dear  father,  calculate  the 
redeeming  influences  of  such  men  on  the  destinies  of 

*  The  first  representative  of  the  people  west  of  the  Allegheny  in 
the  Congress  of  the  United  States. 


314  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

nations.  You  will  doubtless  come  to  this  country, 
perhaps  settle  on  some  of  your  fine  lands  in  Kentucky, 
and  you  must  seek  the  pleasure  and  the  honour  of  the 
acquaintance  and  friendship  of  Mr.  John  Brown,  of 
Frankfort.  He  will  know,  appreciate,  and  prize  you, 
so  congenial  do  I  think  your  characters.*  Mr.  Ter- 
rell and  myself  are  staying  at  his  house." 

After  a  pleasant  sojourn  of  several  days  in  Frank- 
fort, Mr.  Terrell  and  William  Henry  passed  on  through 
Sherbyville  and  Middletown,  at  that  time  larger  than 
Louisville,  and  on  the  evening  of  the  second  day  after 
leaving  Frankfort  they  arrived  at  the  house  of  Mr.  Ter- 
rell, on  Bear  Grass,  in  Jefferson  county.  Mr.  Terrell 
owned  an  excellent  farm,  and  servants  to  cultivate  it 
but  he  was  no  practical  farmer,  and,  consequently,  wa? 
surrounded  by  those  discomforts  which  slovenly  farm- 
ing causes  to  the  cultivators  of  the  soil.  His  wife,  too, 
the  niece  of  Mr.  Jefferson,  had  not  been  brought  up  or 
educated  in  a  cabin  in  the  wild  woods  of  Kentucky, 
and  knew  as  little  of  the  domestic  management  suited 
to  a  residence  in  the  woods,  and  imposed  on  the  wives 
of  the  early  emigrants,  as  her  husband  did  of  farming 
operations.  But  he  was  of  a  happy,  social,  indepres- 
sible,  sanguine  temperament,  little  disquieted  by  things 
which  would  have  rendered  many  men  miserable. 
And  never  did  mortal  woman  bear  with  more  patience, 
cheerfulness,  'gentleness,  and  equanimity,  the  priva- 
tions and  inconveniences  incident  to  the  situation  in 
which  they  were  placed,  than  this  amiable,  accom- 
plished, and  meek-spirited  lady ;  and  never  had  Will- 
iam Henry  enjoyed  himself  more  in  the  splendid  par- 
lours of  Alexandria  than  in  the  humble  abode  of  Mr 
and  Mrs.  Terrell.  Their  society  was  a  charm.  If 
there  was  no  taste  in  their  house  or  its  furniture,  their 
conversation  was  of  the  most  cultivated  and  refined 
character.  Their  reading  was  extensive  and  classical ; 

*  Both  brought  up  in  the  school  of  Virginia  aristocracy — too  lofty 
to  associate  with  the  low — too  proud  to  please  vulgar  pretenders— 
too  pure  to  be  approached  by  meanness,  or  defiled  by  the  touch  of 
corruption. 


THE    RESCUE.  315 

their  manners  gentle  and  courteous  ;  their  hearts  kind 
and  generous  ;  their  sense  of  honour  nice  and  scrupu- 
lous ;  their  principles  pure,  and  of  the  highest  tone. 

Mr.  Terrell  conducted  William  Henry  to  see  his 
father's  lands  in  that  neighbourhood,  which  he  found 
to  be  exceedingly  valuable,  and  urged  him  to  write  to 
his  lather  to  come  and  settle  on  the  tract  adjoining  his 
own.  Sanguine  as  Mr.  Terrell  was  in  expatiating  on 
the  value  of  Kentucky  lands  generally,  and  on  that  on 
Bear  Grass  particularly,  he  spoke  with  prophetic  truth 
of  the  latter.  He  introduced  young  Ballenger  to  the  nu- 
merous acquaintances,  connexions,  and  relatives  of  his 
in  and  around  Louisville — the  Popes,  Prathers,  Fon- 
taines, Corbys,  Floyds,  Bullits,  Clarkes,  Jonathan  and 
George  Rogers,  Clarke,  "  the  Hannibal  of  America" — 
the  elite  of  Kentucky  society  in  that  part  of  the  state. 
He  visited,  and  was  most  courteously  and  kindly  re- 
ceived and  entertained  by  all.  He  then  passed  below 
Louisville  to  see  a  tract  of  land  belonging  to  his  father 
between  the  falls  and  the  mouth  of  Salt  River  ;  and 
here  he  met  with  the  hospitable  dwellers  in  the  Pond 
Settlement — Miller,  Meriwether,  Lewis,  and  Hughes — 
to  the  latter  of  whom  the  new  commonwealth  was 
much  indebted.  If  he  was  not,  like  Abraham,  the  fa- 
ther of  many  nations,  he  was  at  least  the  father  of  a 
nation  of  tine  children.  It  was  absolutely  difficult  to 
get  away  from  the  houses  of  these  gentlemen.  Ev- 
ery facility,  and  kindness,  and  attention  was  lavished 
upon  him,  which  Old  Virginians  know  how  to  appre- 
ciate and  how  to  practise.  When  he  turned  his 
horse's  head  homeward,  it  was  with  feelings  of  warm 
gratitude  and  high  respect,  and  a  lively  sense  of  the 
generous  hospitality  of  the  many  friends  and  acquaint- 
ances which  he  had  made  in  Kentucky. 

In  passing  through  Louisville  on  his  return,  he  met 
with  a  Mr.  Anderson,  a  land-agent  of  extensive  busi- 
ness ?Mid  accurate  information,  who  gave  him  all  the 
reniaih  M<r  i'acis  which  he  needed  in  relation  to  those 
tracts  01  his  father's  laud  in  Kentucky  which  he  had  not 
seen ;  au  1  through  his  agency  he  sold  a  small  slip  of 


316  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

land  in  Jefferson  for  a  considerable  sum,  all  paid  in 
gold.  Although  he  had  written  to  his  father  several 
times,  not  one  of 'his  letters  was  ever  received,  and  he 
had  obtained  no  intelligence  from  home  since  he  loft  his 
father's  house. 

It  was  on  the  fourth  day  of  July  that  William  Henry 
Ballenger,  elate  with  hope  and  full  of  joy,  the  bearer 
of  glad  tidings,  approached  New  Hope,  on  the  Great 
,Kanawha,  after  a  long  day's  ride.  He  saw  nothing  of 
Mr.  James  Dixon,  the  reason  of  which  may  be  as  well 
told  now.  That  worthy  had  trailed  him  and  Mr. 
Terrell  to  Lexington ;  there  he  learned  that  they  had 
gone  to  Louisville.  He  had  been  delayed  by  false  in- 
telligence received  at  the  Mud  Lick  that  two  gentle- 
men, answering  the  description  of  these  gentlemen, 
had  gone  down  Licking  towards  Newport ;  and  know- 
ing that  Slocus  intended  to  go  in  that  direction,  he  was 
thrown  off  their  track,  and  did  not  arrive  at  Lexington 
till  they  had  left  it. 

On  William  Henry's  return  from  Mr.  Terrell's  to- 
wards Lexington  on  his  way  home,  he  was  the  bearer 
of  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Mr.  Walter  Overton,  a  rel- 
ative of  Mr.  Terrell,  and  a  gentleman  of  the  old  school 
of  Virginia ;  and  that  is  all  that  need  be  said  in  praise 
of  any  man  to  those  acquainted  with  the  import  of  the 
words.  At  his  house  William  Henry  met  with  another 
old  Virginian,  a  Mr.  Bullock,  and  a  young  man,  Mr. 
Barry,  who  afterward  occupied  a  distinguished  place 
among  the  eloquent  and  able  statesmen  of  Kentucky. 
They  were  just  from  Lexington,  and  stated  that  a  man. 
calling  himself  Charles  Lamb  was  killed  the  dqy  be- 
fore in  riding  a  quarter  race  near  the  town.  His  horse 
ran  out  of  the  course,  and  fractured  his  scull  against  a 
tree.  From  papers  found  in  his  pocket-book,  it  was 
probable  that  his  real  name  was  James  Dixon,  and 
that  he  was  rather  more  of  a  wolf  than  a  lamb.  From 
the  description  of  his  person  given  by  these  gentle- 
men, William  Henry  told  them  that  he  had  no  doubt 
that  it  was  a  Mr.  James  Dixon,  whom  he  knew  a  great 
horse-dealer  and  jockey.  But  he  was  litt'  3  aware 


THE    RESCUE.  317 

how  much  he  was  indebted  to  the  sugar-tree  that  ter- 
minated the  mortal  race  of  this  man. 

As  the  course  of  our  narrative  will  not  bring  us  back 
to  Kentucky,  we  will  take  this  occasion  to  mention 
that,  some  years  after  these  events,  William  Henry 
again  called,  during  a  visit  to  Kentucky,  at  the  house 
of  Mr.  Overton,  and  there  shed  a  tear  of  unaffected 
grief  and  sorrow  over  the  grave  of  his  earliest  and 
dearest  friend  in  Kentucky,  Richard  Terrell,  who  died 
suddenly  in  Lexington  a  few  days  before,  and  whose 
mortal  remains  were  resting  in  the  grave  at  Mr.  Over- 
ton's,  three  or  four  miles  southeast  of  Lexington. 

When  William  Henry  got  within  a  mile  or  two  of 
his  father's  house,  lie  said  to  himself,  "  This  is  the  glo- 
rious day  on  which  the  independence  of  my  country 
was  declared,  and  this  shall  be  the  day  on  which  the 
restoration  of  my  father  to  independence  shall  be  de- 
clared. What  a  pleasing  coincidence — and  my  sister 
too.  Ah!  Victor,  you  will  obtain  a  jewel  of  price  in 
that  girl,  sister  mine  although  she  be:  I  can  think  it,  if 
it  would  not  become  me  to  say  it  to  others.  She  de- 
serves the  best  and  bravest  in  the  land.  And  Helen, 
too — my  own,  dear,  sweet  Helen.  Get  up,  my  good 
horse  Caligula,  we  don't  go  fast  enough.  I  never 
wished  for  wings  so  much  in  all  my  life." 

He  had  three  hundred  pounds,  all  in  good  gold,  in 
his  saddlebags,  the  purchase-money  of  the  slip  of  land 
sold  in  Kentucky.  We  almost  shudder  to  approach 
with  him,  in  such  high  spirits,  the  house  of  his  father, 
on  which  such  heavy  calamities  had  fallen— desolate 
and  deserted — and  to  behold  the  falling  of  the  ice-bolt 
of  stunning  anguish  upon  his  heart.  He  leaped  from 
his  horse,  and  seeing  Uncle  Tom  sitting  on  the  steps 
of  the  porch,  he  ran  forward  and  cried  out, 

"  How  d'ye  do,  how  d'ye  do,  Uncle  Tom  ?" 

The  old  man  returned  no  answer  to  his  joyous  greet- 
ing. 

"  Anything  the  matter,  Thomas  ?" 

No  answer  but  sobs  and  grasping  his  hand  with  a 
trembling  and  convulsive  energy. 


318  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

•'  Good  heavens  !   what  is  the  matter  ?" 

Still  receiving  no  answer,  he  rushed  past  the  old 
man  into  the  house.  It  was  silent — all  silent.  Char- 
lotte was  sitting  in  the  doorway  of  the  entry,  her  head 
hung  down  and  her  face  concealed  in  her  hands.  He 
trembled  violently,  and  his  heart  beat  fearfully. 

"  In  Heaven's  name,  Charlotte,  what  has  happened  ? 
Where  are  my  father  and  sister  ?" 

She  raised  her  eyes,  streaming  with  tears,  and  said, 
"  Oh  !  Master  William,  try  to  bear  it." 

"  Bear  what  ?"  he  could  scarcely  titter. 

"Miss  Mattie  is — is  drowned!" 

He  staggered  and  supported  himself  against  the  door. 

"  And  my  wretched,  heart-broken  father,  where — 
where  is  he  ?" 

"  'Twas  grief  for  him,  sir,  that  made  her  so  weak, 
poor  thing,  that  she  fell  in  the  river." 

"  My  father  dead  too  ?  Merciful  Heaven  !  Why 
could  not  I — " 

"  No,  Master  William,  he's  not  dead,  but — " 

"  But  what  ?  Keep  me  not  in  this  agony,  Charlotte  ; 
tell  me  all — tell  me  all." 

"  In  prison,  sir,  for — for  killing  the  pedler,  Job 
Terry." 

William  Henry  started  as  if  a  bullet  had  struck  him. 
"  For  killing  the  pedler  !  It's  a  base,  infernal  lie  !  My 
father  never  committed  a  crime  in  his  life — never 
thought  of  such  a  thing.  It's  a  horrible,  deep-laid 
conspiracy  to  take  his  life." 

Most  fortunate  for  this  young  man,  at  this  moment, 
was  this  turn  of  thought.  The  blood  returned  to  his 
face  ;  he  breathed  more  freely.  He  was  nerved  by 
indignation  and  anger,  and  they  neutralized  the  sharp 
agony  of  his  grief.  He  ceased  to  support  himself  by 
the  door,  and  stood  erect  and  firm  as  he  said, 

"  When  did  all  this  happen  ?" 

"  Yesterday,  sir  ;  all  happened  yesterday." 

"  When  was  the  pedler  killed  ?" 

"  The  night  before,  sir.  He  was  here  selling  things 
to  Miss  Mary  Glover  and  Miss  Mattie,  and  went  away 
just  at  dark." 


THK    RESCUE.  319 

"  Who  else  was  here  on  that  day,  Charlotte  ?" 

"  Nobody,  sir,  but  Mr.  John  Glover  and  Mr.  For- 
ster." 

"  What  time  did  Forster  go  away  ?" 

"  Directly  after  the  pedler,  sir." 

He  strode  to  the  front  door,  arid  said, 

"  Thomas,  this  is  no  time  for  giving  way  to  griet — 
to  that  grief  which  God  only  knows  how  much  we 
feel.  Iron,  Thomas,  iron  we  must  be  now.  Bring  me 
a  fresh  horse — the  best  on  the  land — instantly.  My 
good  old  man,  be  quick — be  quick.  Help  to  save 
your  master's  life  from  the  demons  that  would  destroy 
him." 

"  Tank  God  a  Mity  you  come :  only  say,  Massa 
Will,  de  Lord's  will  be  done." 

"  Amen,  Thomas,  arnen  !  Hurry — hurry,  Uncle 
Tom." 

He  threw  the  powder  out  of  the  pans  of  his  pistols, 
examined  them  carefully,  and  primed  them.  The  old 
man  had  in  five  minutes  transferred  his  saddle  and 
saddlebags  to  another  horse,  and  William  Henry  was 
in  full  gallop  to  the  county  jail.  We  will  not  attempt 
to  describe  the  interview  between  him  and  his  father. 
He  was  in  the  jail  nearly  all  night,  yet  before  daybreak 
he  was  on  the  way  to  Eastern  Virginia.  He  did  not 
wait  for  the  action  cf  the  examining  court ;  both  he 
and  his  father  foresaw  its  result.  He  went  to  Virginia 
to  obtain  the  evidence  of  his  father's  high  character, 
to  employ  the  best  counsel,  and  to  settle  up  all  his 
father's  unfinished  business  there.  He,  as  well  as  his 
father,  was  convinced  that  Isaac  Forster  was  the 
prime,  if  not  the  only  mover  in  this  foul  conspiracy. 
His  dishonesty,  hypocrisy,  and  falsehood  had  been 
clearly  demonstrated  to  them  by  the  discoveries  of 
William  Henry  in  relation  to  the  value  of  the  lands ; 
and  his  motives  for  conspiring  against  the  life  of  .Mr. 
Ballenger  began  to  be  suspected  both  by  that  gentle- 
man and  his  son. 

When  Ben  Bramble,  who  had  been  out  of  the  neigh- 
bourhood on  a  hunting  expedition,  returned,  and  heard 


320  NEW  HOPE  ;  OK, 

of  the  death  of  Job  Terry,  the  imprisonment  of  Mr. 
Ballenger,  and  the  drowning  of  Matilda,  he  was  struck 
with  amazement,  grief,  and  horror.  He  could  neither 
eat,  drink,  nor  hunt.  He  went  immediately  to  the 
prison,  and  was  permitted  to  converse  with  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger. We  do  not  know  what  passed  between 
them,  but  from  the  prison  he  went  to  Mr.  Ballenger's 
house,  and  remained  there.  He  was  continually  walk- 
ing about  without  apparent  end  or  object,  or  sitting 
down  fondling  young  Kate  ;  and  when  he  would  rise 
to  resume  his  restless  walks,  the  signs  of  his  wo  could 
be  seen  in  many  a  tear  that  had  fallen  on  the  head  of 
the  hound.  The  poor  animal  seemed  to  share  her 
master's  sorrow.  She  would  often  look  up  in  his  face, 
and  whine  piteously  ;  go  hunting  about  in  the  rooms 
of  the  house  for  Matilda,  and  then  come  out  and  howl, 
or  run  whining  to  her  master,  and  back  again  ii>to  the 
house.  Sometimes,  after  sitting  down  and  looking  fix- 
edly at  the  ground  for  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes,  Ben 
Brarfible  would  rise  up  suddenly,  as  if  in  a  great  hurry, 
clinch  his  fists,  swing  his  arms  about,  and  walk  back- 
ward and  forward  as  if  everything  depended  upon  the 
quickness  of  his  pace.  Then  he  would  suddenly  stop, 
and  mutter  to  himself, 

"  It's  that  devil's  doing,  I  know  it  is — polecat,  wild- 
cat, hell-cat !  He'll  git  it  yit — he  will — he  shall — I 
say  he  shall.  Thar's  a  God  in  heaven — yes,  thar  is. 
Thar's  lightnin*  thar.  The  wicked  can't  pervale  for- 
ever. Tain't  in  the  natur  of  God's  mercy — I  say  it 
ain't."  And  then  he  would  stamp  his  foot  on  the 
ground,  as  if  he  was  crushing  the  head  of  a  snake,  and 
mutter  again,  "  It's  a  wicked  colloggin — a  insurrection 
agin  the  truth  and  a  honest  man's  life." 

Nothing  worth  relating  to  our  readers  passed  from 
this  time  till  October,  and  therefore  we  pass  the  inter- 
vening time  in  silence. 


THE    RESCUE.  321 


CHAPTER  XXXIV. 

THE  district  court  system,  which,  in  the  jurispru 
dence  of  Virginia,  preceded  the  circuit  courts  now- 
held  in  that  state,  was  established  in  1792.  The 
courts  for  the  districts  into  which  the  state  was  divi- 
ded were  termed  Superior  Courts.  Their  terms  were 
held  in  the  spring  and  fall  of  the  year  by  two  judges 
of  the  General  Court,  who  had  jurisdiction  both  in 
civil  and  criminal  cases.  In  civil  cases,  the  matter  in 
controversy  was  to  amount  to  one  hundred  dollars,  or 
three  thousand  pounds  of  tobacco.  Cases  in  which 
the  Court  of  Admiralty  heretofore  had  jurisdiction,  not 
taken  away  by  the  Constitution  of  the  United  States, 
were  transferred  to  these  courts,  the  judges  of  which 
also  had  the  power,  either  in  term  time  or  vacation,  of 
granting  injunctions  to  stay  proceedings  on  judgments 
obtained  in  their  courts,  as  the  judge  of  the  High  Court 
of  Chancery  had  in  similar  cases,  and  to  proceed  to 
the  final  hearing  of  all  suits  commencing  by  injunction, 
as  in  the  High  Court  of  Chancery.  All  treasons,  mur- 
ders, felonies,  and  other  crimes  and  misdemeanors 
committed  within  the  several  districts,  these  courts  had 
full  power  to  hear  and  determine. 

The  counties  of  Greenbrier,  Botetourt,  Montgomery, 
and  Kanawha,  constituted  one  district,  the  court  for 
which  was  to  be  holden  at  Lewisburg  on  the  18th  of 
May  and  18th  of  October  in  every  year,  till  the  pro- 
prietor of  the  Sweet  Springs  should  erect  a  courthouse 
and  prison  for  the  purposes  of  the  act  of  Assembly 
establishing  these  courts.  If  the  business  required  it. 
they  sat  twelve  days.  Great  numbers  of  persons  at- 
tended their  sessions ;  lawyers  from  all  the  surround- 
ing counties,  and  frequently,  when  very  important  civil 
or  criminal  cases  were  to  be  tried,  the  most  distin- 
guished advocates  from  the  metropolis  and  other  cities 
14 


322  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

attended  the  Superior  Courts,  even  beyond  the  mount- 
ains. Heavy  land  cases  and  cases  of  murder  were 
those  in  which  large  fees  called  into  action  all  the  el- 
oquence, and  legal  ability,  and  learning  of  the  Vir- 
ginia bar,  not  inferior  to  any  in  the  United  States. 
The  grand  jurors  were  generally  the  most  respectable 
and  independent  country  gentlemen  in  the  counties 
composing  the  district.  The  judges  were  men  of  great 
dignity  of  character,  learned  in  the  law,  and  highly 
respected  by  the  people.  Great  judicial  stateliness, 
form,  and  decorum  were  observed  in  the  sessions  of 
these  tribunals,  and  justice  was  never  more  ably,  im- 
partially, or  faithfully  administered  than  by  these  Su- 
perior Courts.  Not  only  did  their  officers,  the  jurors, 
suiters,  and  witnesses  attend  them,  but  all  the  gentry 
of  the  surrounding  country  usually  assembled  ;  and 
the  fashionable  and  the  gay,  as  well  as  the  idle  and 
dissolute,  congregated  in  the  villages  or  towns  in  which 
these  courts  were  held,  and  always  found  the  means 
of  amusement,  which  are  sure  to  be  afforded  by  play- 
actors, dancing-masters,  racers,  gamblers,  and  jugglers, 
wherever  large  crowds  are  periodically  collected. 

The  case  of  Edward  Ballenger  had  made  great 
noise  throughout  the  country,  and  the  excited  curiosity 
and  interest  of  the  people  filled  the  village  of  Lewis- 
burg  to  overflowing  with  anxious  spectators.  The  ex- 
amining court  had  sent  him  on  to  the  jail  of  that  place 
for  farther  trial.  His  son  had  been  to  Alexandria  and 
Richmond,  had  retained  able  counsel  for  his  defence, 
brought  on  incontestable  evidence  of  his  standing  and 
character,  and  settled  up  all  his  business  in  the  eastern 
part  of  the  state ;  for  his  father  had  prepared  for  the 
worst,  anticipating  the  probability  of  his  condemnation 
to  death  upon  the  gallows.  IN  ever  did  a  dutiful,  de- 
voted, and  affectionate  son  make  greater  exertions  for 
a  father.  Indignantly  repelling  the  idea  of  the  guilt 
of  his  father,  for  whose  principles  he  had  unbounded 
respect,  he  yet  took  every  precaution  suggested  by  the 
able  and  learned  lawyers  whom  he  had  employed,  to 
guard  against  any  indirection,  advantage,  or  conspira- 


THE    RESCUE.  323 

<y  which  might  be  developed  in  the  course  of  the  trial. 
They  had  advised  him  studiously  and  cautiously  to 
avoid  the  expression  of  any  suspicion  of  conspiracy  or 
design  against  the  life  of  his  father  by  any  person  what- 
ever, and  especially  Mr.  Forster,  whose  whole  conduct 
in  relation  to  his  father  and  sister  William  Henry  had 
communicated  to  them,  and  his  artful  arid  dishonest  con- 
duct in  relation  to  the  lands.  Confident  of  his  father's 
innocence,  notwithstanding  the  strong  chain  of  circum- 
stances that  had  led  to  his  arrest,  William  Henry  seem- 
ed to  grow  more  confident  every  day  that  his  father 
could  not  be  made  to  appear  guilty,  or  be  condemned 
for  a  crime  which  he  had  not  committed.  Thus  sup- 
ported, William  Henry  was  calm  and  composed,  and 
displayed  an  energy  of  character  which  he  had  never 
shown  before.  He  seemed  to  have  grown  many  years 
older  in  a  few  months. 

On  the  17th  of  October,  George  Arbuckle  Temple- 
man  came  to  Lewisburg,  the  bearer  of  a  letter  to  the 
judge.  One  of  the  judges  was  known  to  be  sick  and 
unable  to  attend.  The  18th  of  October  arrived.  The 
grand  jury  were  empannelled  and  sworn.  The  judge 
delivered  his  charge,  and  they  retired  to  their  room. 
The  commonwealth's  attorney  sent  to  them  papers  and 
witnesses,  and  in  an  hour  they  returned  into  court  an 
indictment  against  Edward  Ballenger  for  the  murder 
of  Job  Terry — a  true  bill. 

Wriliam  Henry  Ballenger  immediately  left  the  court 
house,  and  in  a  few  moments  returned  with  the  peti- 
tion of  his  father  for  trial,  although  there  was  but  one 
judge  present,  the  law  requiring  two  in  criminal  cases, 
except  on  the  petition  of  the  accused.  The  judge  or- 
dered the  sheriff  to  have  the  prisoner,  Edward  Ballen- 
ger, brought  into  court.  The  room  was  crowded  in 
every  nook  and  corner.  Every  bench  was  filled ; 
every  place  in  which  a  man  could  stand  was  occupied. 
The  window-sills  and  doorways  were  blocked  up  with 
spectators.  The  open  area  beyond  the  bar  was  a  mo- 
unt" mass  of  human  heads.  All  were  uncovered  ;  and 
the  expressions  which  marked  the  countenances  of  the 


324  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

individuals  composing  the  crowd  were  as  various  as 
their  ages,  conditions,  and  habits.  The  vacant  stare, 
the  keen,  searching  glance,  the  mild  and  pitying  eye, 
the  contracted  and  stern  frown,  the  reflective  and  dis- 
passionate look,  artd  the  smirking,  silly  smile,  could 
all  be  seen  in  close  proximity. 

Isaac  Forster,  who  had  returned  from  the  grand  ju- 
rors' room,  was  seated  on  a  window-sill  not  far  from 
the  judge  ;  one  of  the  deputy-sheriffs  and  another  young 
man  occupied  seats  beside  him.  There  was  no  noise, 
and  only  a  low,  indistinct  murmuring  sound  could  be 
heard. 

"  I  don't  see  his  son,"  whispered  the  young  man  to 
Isaac  Forster. 

"He's  ashamed,  I  reckon,"  replied  Isaac,  "to  see 
the  old  gentleman  hold  up  his  hand  at  the  bar,  and  has 
gone  out." 

"  Maybe  that  is  it,"  whispered  the  young  man. 

The  crowd  were  seen  moving  and  parting  at  the 
door,  and  the  voice  of  the  sheriff  was  heard  saying, 
"  Make  way,  gentlemen,  for  the  prisoner."  All  eyes 
were  turned  towards  the  door,  and  a  breathless  silence 
pervaded  the  hall.  Slowly,  but  with  firm  and  steady 
steps,  Edward  Ballenger  approached  the  back  of  the 
bar,  with  the  sheriff  on  one  side  and  the  jailer  on  the 
other.  His  manly  face  was  marked  by  an  expression 
of  deep  thought,  yet  his  brow  was  smooth,  his  lips  un- 
compressed, and  his  eyes  clear  and  serene.  He  was 
dressed  in  deep  mourning.  When  he  reached  the 
back  of  the  bar,  he  made  a  profound  obeisance  to  the 
judge.  A  moment  after,  the  judge  said, 

"  Edward  Ballenger,  one  judge  cannot  proceed  with 
your  trial  unless  on  your  petition  to  be  brought  to  trial : 
do  you  make  that  petition  ?" 

"  I  do,  sir,"  replied  Mr.  Ballenger. 

"  Sheriff,"  said  the  judge,  "  place  a  chair  for  the 
prisoner." 

His  whole  appearance  and  demeanour  were  stri- 
kingly those  of  a  gentleman,  in  the  proper  sense  of 
that  term.  He  took  the  seat  offered  to  him  behind 


THE    RESCUE.  325 

his  counsel.  One  of  the  junior  lawyers  said,  in  an 
under  tone,  to  the  one  sitting  next  him, 

"  He  looks  more  like  a  judge  than  a  criminal.  That 
fellow  gives  fat  fees,  I  guess ;  I  should  like  to  have 
him  for  my  client." 

After  the  usual  legal  formalities  were  all  gone 
through,  the  petit  jury  empannelled,  not  one  of  whom 
the  prisoner  challenged  either  peremptorily  or  for 
cause,  the  indictment  read,  and  he  had  pleaded  "  Not 
guilty,"  it  was  remarked  that  Mr.  Ballenger's  senior 
counsel  looked  for  a  moment  at  Isaac  Forster,  and 
then,  with  a  very  significant,  but  hardly  perceptible 
smile  en  his  lip,  whispered  in  the  ear  of  the  prisoner. 

The  attorney  for  the  commonwealth  then  arose  and 
made  a  few  prefatory  remarks  on  the  nature  of  the 
charge  and  the  evidence,  the  importance  of  minute 
circumstances  as  connecting  links  in  presumptive  evi- 
dence, and  concluded  by  calling  on  the  jury  to  bear  in 
mind  the  solemn  oaths  they  had  taken  to  weigh  well 
the  testimony  and  decide  on  the  guilt  or  innocence  of 
the  accused  according  to  the  law  and  the  evidence. 
"  Whenever  a  crime,"  said  he,  "  has  been  committed, 
it  is  the  interest  of  every  good  citizen  that  it  should  be 
detected,  and  the  perpetrator  punished.  Yet  the  pun- 
ishment of  the  guilty  is  not  more  to  be  desired  than 
the  acquittal  of  the  innocent.  I  should  be  unworthy 
of  the  place  which  I  occupy  if  I  did  not,  in  the  dis- 
charge of  my  duty,  attempt  to  bring  the  guilty  to  pun- 
ishment; yet  in  this,  as  in  every  other  case,  I  should 
rather  rejoice  that  the  accused  should  be  able  to  es- 
tablish his  innocence.  In  all  cases,  if  one  or  the 
other  is  to  be  the  result,  it  is  better  that  the  guilty 
should  escape  than  that  the  punishment  of  guilt  should 
be  inflicted  on  the  innocent." 

The  junior  counsel  for  the  prisoner  merely  remarked, 
that  he  and  his  colleagues  had  no  remarks  to  offer  till 
they  heard  the  evidence  against  their  client,  the  ac- 
cused, and  would  only  now  say  to  his  honour  the 
judge,  and  the  jury,  that  he  believed  the  indictment 
would  not  be  sustained  by  the  evidence,  an  t  the 


326  NEW  HOPE  ;  or,, 

accused  would  be  certainly  and  honourably  acquit- 
ted. 

The  evidence  of  the  finding  of  the  body  of  Job 
Terry,  the  time,  place,  and  circumstances,  and  all  that 
happened  at  the  inquest  that  could  be  legally  intro- 
duced, was  first  brought  before  the  court.  These  are 
known  to  our  readers,  and  it  is  unnecessary  to  reca- 
pitulate them.  James  Simpson  was  then  called  to  the 
book,  and  sworn.  The  attorney  for  the  commonwealth 
said,  "  Tell  the  court  and  jury,  Mr.  Simpson,  what  you 
know  of  this  case." 

The  witness  said,  "  I  know  nothing  about  the  mur- 
der of  Job  Terry.  Mr.  Ballenger  came  to  my  store 
on  the  morning  of  the  first  of  July  last,  and  asked  me 
to  give  him  change  for  a  twenty-dollar  note,  saying 
that  he  had  no  change,  and  expected  to  see  Job  Terry 
shortly,  to  whom  he  owed  some  seven  or  eight  dollars, 
and  wished  to  pay  him." 

"  Did  you  give  him  change  ?" 

"  No,  I  did  not ;  I  had  none  to  spare." 

"  How  far  do  you  live  from  the  prisoner  ?" 

"  About  a  mile  and  a  half  above." 

"  What  time  of  day  was  it  when  the  prisoner  came 
to  your  store  ?" 

"  About  ten  o'clock  in  the  morning." 

"  How  long  did  he  stay  ?" 

"  Not  more  than  fifteen  or  twenty  minutes." 

"  I  understand  you  to  say,  Mr.  Simpson,  that  you 
gave  the  prisoner  no  change  ?" 

"  I  did  say  so." 

"  Will  you  state  what  the  prisoner  said  when  you 
told  him  you  had  no  change  to  spare  ?" 

"  He  said  he  had  tried  to  obtain  it  wherever  ho 
thought  it  could  be  had  in  the  neighbourhood,  and 
could  not  get  a  dollar,  and  that  he  should  make  no 
farther  effort ;  that  Job  Terry  would  have  to  wait  still 
longer  for  his  money." 

"  I  am  done  with  this  witness,  gentlemen,"  said  the 
attorney  for  the  commonwealth,  addressing  himself  to 
the  prisoner's  counsel. 


THE    RESCUE.  327 

'•  We  have  no  questions  to  ask,"  observed  Mr.  Ran- 
dolph, addressing  himself  to  the  judge,  who  said, 

"  You  may  retire  for  the  present,  Mr.  Simpson." 

John  and  Mary  Glover  were  sworn. 

"  Mr.  Glover,  stand  a  little  back,  and  face  the  jury." 

The  commonwealth's  attorney  beckoned  to  the 
sheriff,  and  requested  him  to  hand  to  John  Glover  a 
piece  of  coin  in  his  possession. 

"  Mr.  Glover,  will  you  look  at  that  piece  of  gold, 
and  tell  the  court  and  jury  what  you  know  about  it?" 

Glover  said,  "  My  sister  and  myself  went  on  a  visit 
to  Mr.  Ballenger's  on  the  second  of  July,  after  dinner. 
While  we  were  there,  Job  Terry  came  in.  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger  invited  him  to  sit  down,  which  he  did,  taking 
off  his  pack  and'  setting  it  down  on  the  floor.  Mr. 
Ballenger  then  said  to  him,  '  I'm  sorry,  Mr.  Terry,  I 
have  not  in  change  what  I  owe  you,  but  as  you  are 
going  down  the  river  towards  the  Point,  you  must  call 
on  your  return,  when  I  hope  I  shall  have  it  ready  for 
you.'  Mr.  Terry  answered — " 

"You  need  not  state  what  Mr.  Terry  said,"  inter- 
posed the  commonwealth's  attorney. 

"  We  have  no  objection,  your  honour,  to  this  wit- 
ness, or  any  other,  stating  all  the  conversations  arid 
circumstances  in  his  own  way,  believing  that  we  shall 
best  obtain  in  that  way  the  whole  truth,  and  relying 
upon  your  honour  to  instruct  this  intelligent  jury  as  to 
the  legality  of  all  the  statements — to  inform  them  what 
is  and  what  is  not  legal  evidence  for  or  against  the 
prisoner  at  the  bar,"  said  Mr.  Walker,  one  of  the  pris- 
oner's counsel. 

"  Go  on,  Mr.  Glover,"  said  the  judge. 

"  Mr.  Terry  answered  Mr.  Ballenger  by  saying," 
continued  the  witness,  " '  It  makes  no  odds,  sir ;  I  did 
not  call  for  that,  but  to  see  if  I  could  not  sell  you  or 
the  young  people  something  this  evening.'  Miss  Ma- 
tilda, the  poor  young  lady  that  was  drowned,  then 
said,  '  As  soon  as  you  are  rested,  Mr.  Terry,  open 
your  little  store ;  I  want  a  few  articles.'  Just  then 
Mr.  Ballenger  walked  out  of  the  room.  When  the 


328  KEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

pack  was  opened,  Miss  Ballenger  bought  several  arti- 
cles, and  my  sister  a  shawl,  or,  rather,  I  bought  the 
shawl,  and  gave  it  to  my  sister.  After  they  were 
done  dealing,  Miss  Matilda  said  to  Job  Terry,  '  Here 
is  an  old  English  guinea  ;  give  me  the  change  if  I  am 
entitled  to  any.'  He  took  the  guinea,  examined  it, 
and  said,  '  We  don't  often  come  across  these  yellow 
boys  out  here  :  a  good  guinea,  of  good  weight.'  He 
poised  it  on  his  little  finger,  and  said,  '  I  should  know 
it  among  a  thousand,  from  this  mark  upon  the  edge.' 
Seeing  me  look  curiously  at  the  coin,  he  handed  it  to 
me,  and  running  over  the  articles  Matilda  had  bought, 
said  to  her,  '  Your  change,  miss,  is  six  shillings ;  the 
articles  come  to  twenty-two  shillings.  Here  is  your 
change — much  obliged,  miss.'  I  examined  the  piece 
of  gold,  and  so  did  my  sister,  who  then  returned  it  to 
Job  Terry.  I  paid  him  for  the  shawl.  He  handed 
them  a  handsome  box,  out  of  which  I  believe  they 
bought  some  other  articles,  which  I  did  not  see.  He 
then  collected  his  merchandise,  which  was  scattered 
on  the  floor,  put  it  in  his  pack,  and  closed  it.  Soon 
after  that  my  sister  and  myself  left  Mr.  Ballenger's,  on 
our  return  home." 

The  commonwealth's  attorney  inquired,  "  Did  you 
leave  Terry  the  pedler  there  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  What  time  in  the  evening  ?" 

"  Just  about  sunset." 

"  Look  at  the  piece  of  gold  ;  is  that  the  same  guinea 
or  piece  of  gold  paid  by  Miss  Ballenger  to  the  pedler, 
Job  Terry  ?" 

"  I  believe  it  is." 

"  Why  ?" 

"  From  the  marks  on  it." 

"  Hand  it  to  the  jury,  that  they  may  examine  it 
themselves,  and  judge  if  its  identity  can  be  established 
by  any  marks  on  it.  Were  any  other  persons  pres- 
ent?" 

"  Mr.  Forster  was  sitting  in  the  porch,  reading  a 
newspaper." 


THE    RESCUE.  329 

"  Was  William  Henry  Ballenger  there  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  was  not  at  home." 

"  Any  questions,  gentlemen  ?"  inquired  the  common- 
wealth's attorney. 

"  None,"  replied  Mr.  Walker. 

"  Miss  Glover,  will  you  tell  us  what  you  know  of 
this  piece  of  money  ?  Take  it  and  look  at  it." 

She  looked  at  the  coin,  but  her  eyes  were  suffused 
with  tears,  she  trembled  excessively,  and  could  hard- 
ly speak  so  as  to  be  heard. 

"It  seems  to  me — I  believe  it  is  —  I  cannot  say  it 
certainly  is — you  have  heard  what  brother  has  said — " 

"  Did  you  see  Miss  Ballenger  pay  Mr.  Terry  a  piece 
of  gold  ?" 

"  Yes,  sir." 

"  Did  you  hand  it  to  him  after  looking  at  it?" 

"Yes,  sir,  I  did." 

"  You  may  retire,  Miss  Glover." 

She  did  retire,  supported  by  her  brother,  and  sob- 
bing bitterly. 

"  Swear  the  sheriff.  Tell  the  court  and  jury,  sheriff, 
how  this  piece  of  money  camn  into  your  possession." 

"  When  my  duty  compelled  me  to  arrest  the  prison- 
er on  the  evening  of  the  third  of  July,  he  was  sitting 
in  the  porch  reading.  He  seemed  much  astonished. 
I  then  showed  him  the  search-warrant.  He  handed 
me  his  keys.  I  searched  his  desk,  and  found  in  a  se- 
cret drawer  ninety-five  dollars  in  silver  and  this  piece 
of  gold." 

"  Why  Avas  a  search-warrant  issued  ?" 

"  It  was  stated  at  the  coroner's  inquest  that  Miss 
Ballenger  and  John  Glover  had  paid  money  to  the 
pedler,  Job  Terry,  the  evening  before,  at  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger's,  and  there  was  none  found  in  his  pack  or  on  his 
person." 

"  Are  you  certain  that  the  piece  of  gold  shown  to 
the  court  and  jury  is  the  same  that  you  found  in  the 
prisoner's  desk?" 

"  Yes.  I  am  ;  it  has  been  in  my  possession  evei 
since." 

U* 


330  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  Where  is  the  rest  of  the  money  found  in  his  desk 7" 

"  Here,  in  this  bag." 

"  Set  it  on  the  clerk's  table.  Stand  aside,  sir. 
James  Simpson,  we  must  trouble  you  again,"  said  the 
commonwealth's  attorney.  "  Open  that  bag,  look  at 
the  money  in  it,  and  say  if  you  recognise  any  of  the 
pieces  in  the  bag." 

Simpson  went  to  the  clerk's  table,  examined  the 
money,  and  said, 

"  Here  is  one  piece  which  I  know.  It  is  a  coun- 
terfeit." 

"  Well,  sir,  what  do  you  know  of  it  ?" 

"  On  the  first  of  July,  Job  Terry  was  at  my  store — 
complained  of  having  been  pestered  all  the  way  from 
Waynesborough  by  base  coin — showed  this  one.  Mr. 
Forster  and  myself  doubted  whether  it  was  a  counter- 
feit, and  told  him  we  should  think  it  a  good  dollar ;  to 
convince  us,  he  took  a  file  and  made  this  notch  in  it 
He  said  it  was  different  from  any  he  had  seen." 

"  Did  he  say  of  whom  he  received  it?" 

"  Yes— of  Mr.  Samuel  Carter,  at  the  falls." 

"  Where  is  he  ?" 

"  I  do  not  know  :  it  is  reported  that  he  is  gone  back 
to  Old  Virginia,  having  received  a  letter  informing  him 
that  his  father  was  ill — not  expected  to  live." 

"  Well,  sir,  what  became  of  that  dollar  after  it  was 
filed  and  ascertained  to  be  a  counterfeit  ?" 

"  Job  Terry  put  it  into  his  pocket,  and  said  he 
should  keep  it  to  show  the  people,  to  guard  them 
against  the  like." 

"  You  may  stand  aside.  Sheriff,  was  that  bad  dol 
lar  with  the  notch  filed  in  it  found  by  you  in  the  pris 
oner's  desk  ?" 

"  It  was,  and  all  on  the  clerk's  table." 

'•  Swear  Peter  Gains." 

He  was  sworn,  and  said,  "  When  crowner  was  a 
settin'  on  the  dead  body  of  Job  with  the  jury,  I  was 
thar.  Mr.  Forster  was  a  owin'  me  a  small  matter,  and 
he  axed  me  to  take  a  walk  one  side.  Says  he  to  me, 
says  he,  '  Peter,  let's  take  a  walk.'  So  I  gits  up,  ho- 


THE    RESCUE.  331 

pin'  he  was  gwine  to  pay  me  that  four-and-sixpence  he 
had  bin  owin'  me  since — let  me  see — last  Christmass 
— no,  J'tn  wrong — last  New-year's  day,  as  well  as  my 
memory  sarves  me.  So  we  walks  off  down  towards 
the  river,  and  as  we  turned  round  the  big  rock,  I  sees 
a  hankycher  a  stickin'  on  a  brier  'bout  a  foot  and  a 
half,  or  a  leetle  under  or  over,  from  the  ground,  jest  as 
if  the  brier  had  caught  in  it,  stickin'  out  fashionable- 
like  from  the  pocket,  and  jerked  it  out  as  some  one 
was  a  passin'  by.  '  Bless  me,'  says  I,  '  here's  a  han 
kycher,'  says  I,  and  I  slept  up  to  take  hold  on  it,  but  1 
stumbled  agin  a  rock,  and  as  I  rekivered  I  was  nigh 
fallin',  I  tell  ye.  I  seed  somethin'  a  shinin'  in  the  dirt, 
and  stoopin'  down,  I  picked  up  this  dirk  that's  a  lyin' 
thar  by  the  hankycher  on  the  table.  It  was  all  dirty 
and  bloody — I  was  scared  monstrous  bad,  and  so  was 
Mr.  Forster,  I  reckon.  '  My  God  !'  says  he,  '  Peter, 
this  is  a  bad  business.'  '  Jest  so,'  says  I  ;  '  this  must 
be  the  dirk  that  killed  Job.'  So  we  fotch  'em  right 
back  to  the  men  that  was  settin'  on  the  body,  and  I 
told  'em  all  'bout  it,  didn't  I,  Mr.  Crowner  ?"  The 
coroner  nodded  his  assent.  "  Think  1  didn't  forgit  to 
give  Mr.  Forster  a  hint  'bout  the  four-and-sixpence — 
that  I  did  :  it  went  clean  out  of  my  head." 

The  handkerchief  and  dirk  were  then  shown  to  the 
judge  and  the  jury.  The  former  was  of  white,  fine 
linen  cambric,  and  marked  on  the  corner.  "  Edward 
Ba/lcngcr,  No.  7."  The  dirk  was  a  costly  and  beau- 
tiful instrument — the  handle  of  mother  of  pearl,  richly 
inlaid  with  gold,  on  which  were  engraved  the  letters 
E.  B. 

Mr.  Wickham,  of  counsel  for  the  accused,  arose  and 
said,  "  In  order  to  save  the  time  of  the  court,  we  do  not 
mean  to  deny  that  these  articles  are  the  property  of 
Mr.  Hallenger ;  therefore  no  proof  need  be  adduced  on 
that  point — we  admit  the  fact." 

"  Very  well,  sir,"  said  the  attorney  for  the  common- 
wealth. "  Have  you  any  questions  to  ask  Peter 
Gains  ?" 

"  None,  sir." 


332  NEW   HOPR  ;    OR, 

"You  may  stand  aside,  Mr.  Gains.  Swear  Isaac 
Forster,  clerk.  Well,  Mr.  Forster,  proceed  with  your 
testimony  in  this  unfortunate  affair." 

"  Truly  unfortunate,"  said  Foster,  "  and  I  am  very 
sorry  that  my  oath  compels  me  to  say  anything  about 
it.  I've  always  been  the  friend  of  the  murd — prison- 
er, I  mean." 

"  Speak  it  out,  Mr.  Forster — of  the  murderer,  you 
might  say,  sir.  It  would  be  true  you  are  his  friend" 
said  Mr.  Wickham,  in  a  voice  the  clear,  silver  tones 
of  which  were  distinctly  heard  in  every  part  of  that 
crowded  room.  "  Your  friendship  for  my  client  has  no- 
thing to  do  in  this  matter.  We  want  the  facts — the 
truth,  sir — the  whole  truth." 

"Perhaps,"  said  the  attorney  for  the  commonwealth, 
"  as  Mr.  Forster  desires  to  say  nothing  more  than  he  is 
compelled  by  his  oath  and  the  law,  if  it  meets  with  no 
objection  from  you,  gentlemen  of  counsel  for  the  accu- 
sed, and  your  honour"  (addressing  the  judge)  "  will 
permit,  we  may  best  obtain  his  evidence  by  propound- 
ing interrogatories." 

"  We  have  no  objections,"  said  Mr.  Randolph. 
"  Proceed  with  your  questions,  sir." 

"  Mr.  Forster,"  inquired  the  commonwealth's  attor- 
ney, "  were  you  at  the  prisoner's  house  on  the  second 
of  July?" 

"  I  was." 

"  What  time  of  day  did  you  arrive  there  ?" 

"  About  eleven  o'clock." 

"Had  you  business  with  him?" 

"  A  small  matter  of  business.  I  held  a  note  of  his, 
assigned  to  me  for  $30." 

"  Did  you  visit  him  with  the  view  of  collecting  your 
money  ?" 

"  Partly." 

"  Did  he  pay  you  ?" 

"  No :  I  told  him  I  wanted  specie,  and  he  said  he 
was  sorry  he  had  not  a  dollar  of  specie,  and  not  enough 
in  notes  to  pay  me  at  that  time." 

"  What  time  in  the  day  did  this  conversation  take 
place  ?" 


THE    RESCUE.  333 

"  Before  dinner;  I  suppose  about  one  o'clock." 

"  You  said  that  the  collection  of  the  note  was  partly 
your  business.  What  else,  Mr.  Forster,  brought  you 
to  the  prisoner's  house  ?" 

"  It  was  a  pleasant  place  to  visit  at ;  I  had  been  oft- 
en there,  was  well  acquainted  with  the  family,  and 
liked  their  society." 

"  Were  you  acquainted  with  his  daughter  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  that  young  lady  that  was,  unfortunately, 
drowned,  or,  when  her  father  was  arrested,  committed 
— I  mean  to  say,  may  have  drowned — " 

"  Commuted  self-murder,  you  mean  ;  speak  it  out,  sir," 
said  Mr.  Wickham. 

"  She,"  continued  Forster,  "  was  a  very  agreeable 
young  lady,  and  I — take  great  pleasure  in  the  compa- 
ny of  young  ladies." 

"  Did  you  hold  any  conversation  with  her  that 
day  ?" 

"Yes,  I  may  say  I  did,  of  a  private  and  delicate 
"kind,  which  I  do  not  wish  to  repeat." 

"  You  are  not  bound,  Mr.  Forster,"  said  the  judge, 
"  to  repeat  it." 

"  Well,  sir,  did  you  see  her  after  dinner?" 

"  Not  till  after  Mr.  Glover  and  his  sister  came  in." 

"  Did  you  converse  with  her  ?" 

"  I  did  not.  I  took  a  seat  in  the  porch,  to  read  a 
newspaper." 

"  Did  you  see  Job  Terry  there  ?" 

"  Yes  ;  the  young  ladies  were  dealing  with  him." 

"  Could  you  see  them?" 

"  Yes  ;  the  door  was  open,  and  they  were  not  ten 
feet  from  me." 

"  Did  you  see  any  money  paid,  and  by  whom  ?" 

"By  Mr.  Glover  —  silver  dollars,  and  a  piece  of 
gold  by  Miss  B;illenger." 

"  Look  ;it  this  dirk,  Mr.  Forster:  did  you  ever  see 
it  before  the  day  on  which  the  coroner's  inquest  was 
held  on  the  body  of  Job  Terry  ?" 

"  Yes,  1  have." 

"  More  than  once  ?" 


334  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  Yes,  sir,  often." 

"  Where  ?" 

"  On  the  mantel  among  other  curiosities  in  the  pris- 
oner's sitting-room." 

"  When  did  yon  see  it  there  ?" 

"  Several  times." 

"  When  did  you  see  it  there  last  ?" 

"  Late  in  the  evening  of  the  second  of  July." 

"  After  Mr.  Glover  and  his  sister  had  departed  ?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Was  Miss  Ballenger  in  the  room  ?" 

"  No,  she  had  left  the  room." 

"  Did  any  other  person  enter  the  room  before  you 
left  the  porch  ?" 

"  None  except  the  prisoner.  He  came  in  through 
the  adjoining  room,  walked  up  to  the  mantel,  and  took 
something  bright  from  it — his  spectacles,  I  supposed 
— and  went  out." 

"  Was  the  pedler  there  ?" 

"  No  ;  he  had  gone  just  before." 

"  How  long  ?" 

"  Two  or  three  minutes.' 

"  Were  you  in  that  room  afterward  ?" 

"  Yes ;  about  ten  minutes  after  Mr.  Ballenger  left 
the  room  I  went  in  to  put  the  newspaper  on  the  man- 
tel, where  I  found  it." 

"  Did  you  see  the  dirk  there  then  •?" 

"  No,  it  was  not  there." 

"  Are  you  sure  of  that  ?" 

"  I  did  riot  see  it  in  the  place  where  it  was  lying  be- 
fore." 

"  Where  do  you  suppose  it  was  ?" 

"  I  do  not  like  to  suppose,  sir,  against  a  man's  life." 

"  You  are  not  bound  to  answer,  Mr.  Forster,"  said 
the  judge. 

"  Did  the  prisoner  return,  or  did  you  see  him  after 
that  ?" 

"  I  did  not  see  him  after  that,  for  I  stayed  not  more 
than  a  minute  or  two," 

"  Was  it  dark  ?" 


THE    RESCUE.  335 

"  No,  only  getting  so." 

"  Did  you  take  leave  of  any  of  the  family  ?" 

"  No  ;  Mr.  Ballenger  was  not  in  the  house,  and  Miss 
Ballenger  was  in  her  own  room,  I  presume.  I  mount- 
ed my  horse,  that  had  been  brought  out  at  my  request 
some  time  before,  and  rode  away." 

"  Any  questions,  gentlemen  ?"  inquired  the  common- 
wealth's attorney. 

"  Not  now,"  replied  Mr.  Walker ;  "  we  may  wish 
to  ask  Mr.  Forster  a  question  or  two  presently." 

Isaac  Forster  went  back  and  resumed  his  seat  on 
the  window-sill,  where  the  two  gentlemen  with  whom 
he  had  been  sitting  made  room  for  him.  The  prose- 
cuting attorney  said, 

"  The  evidence  on  the  part  of  the  commonwealth 
has  all  been  heard,  I  believe,  and  I  do  not  wish  to 
make  any  comments  on  it  until  I  hear  the  evidence  on 
the  part  of  the  accused,  if,  indeed,  there  is  any.  .My 
brethren  of  the  bar  of  counsel  for  the  prisoner  have 
pursued  a  course  novel  and  unaccountable  to  me.  The 
prisoner,  acting,  doubtless,  in  accordance  with  their  ad- 
vice, made  no  challenges ;  and  they,  perfectly  aware 
— no  lawyers  can  be  more  so — that  much  that  has 
been  said  by  the  witnesses  is  not  strictly  legal  evi- 
dence, have  opposed  no  objections,  asked  no  questions, 
and  cross-examined  not  a  single  witness.  The  case 
really  seems  to  me  of  the  gravest  aspect — awfully 
plain,  and  I  am  entirely  at  a  loss  to  know  how  they 
mean  to  shape  their  defence.  Have  you  any  witness- 
es, gentlemen  ?" 

"  We  have,"  replied  Mr.  Randolph,  "  and  the  gen- 
tlemen will  soon  be  enlightened  as  lo  the  course  we 
have  taken  and  the  nature  of  our  defence.  May  it 
please  your  honour,"  continued  he,  "  we  ask  the  in- 
dulgence of  the  court  for  a  few  minutes.  Some  of 
our  witnesses  are  travel-worn,  and  we  did  not  wish  to 
subject  them  to  the  annoyance  of  a  crowded  court- 
room till  their  presence  should  be  necessary.  They 
are  in  town,  and  will  be  here  in  a  few  minutes.  Sher- 


336  NEW    HOPE  :    OR, 

iff",  call  Edward  Templeman  at  the  door,  if  you  please. 
Our  principal  witnesses,  sir,  are  ladies." 

It  was  observed  that  when  Mr.  Randolph  remarked 
that  the  witnesses  were  ladies,  Isaac  Forster  turned 
pale,  started,  and  looked  anxiously  towards  the  door. 
The  sheriff'  had  hardly  returned  to  his  seat,  when  the 
stately,  tall,  erect  form  of  Edward  Templeman  was 
seen  entering  the  hall.  His  head  was  uncovered,  and 
his  thin,  gray  locks  were  waving  over  his  broad  and 
high  forehead.  The  "  stormy  multitude"  parted  before 
him  as  he  advanced  with  slow  and  measured  steps. 
On  his  arm  leaned  a  female  form  in  deep  mourning, 
whose  face  was  entirely  concealed  by  her  bonnet  and 
a  long  black  veil.  Close  behind  them  walked  William 
Henry  Ballenger,  with  another  lady  in  a  close  riding- 
dress,  whose  face  was  also  covered  by  a  riding-cap 
and  veil.  As  they  approached  the  spot  where  the 
prisoner  sat,  he  arose  from  his  seat.  In  an  instant  the 
reil  was  raised,  the  bonnet  fell  to  the  ground,  and  as 
she  threw  her  arms  around  the  neck  of  the  prisoner 
and  cried  out.  "  Oh !  my  father !  my  father  .'"  there  burst 
forth  from  the  astonished  multitude  in  every  part  of  the 
hall  the  exclamation, 

"  It  is  his  daughter — it  is  his  daughter !  Great 
God !  has  the  grave  given  up  its  dead  to  save  him  ?" 

it  was  indeed  his  daughter.  Her  long,  dishevelled, 
auburn  hair  had  fallen  in  thick  volumes  on  the  shoul- 
ders of  her  father,  and  displayed  to  all  the  face  of  Ma- 
tilda Ballenger.  The  tears  that  fell  fast  from  her  eyes 
were  not  the  only  tears  that  were  shed  in  that  vast  as- 
sembly. On  every  side  sobs,  and  sighs,  and  sounds 
of  sympathy  were  heard.  Even  the  venerable  form 
of  the  judge  was  bent  forward  till  his  head  rested  ou 
the  table  before  him,  and  his  whole  frame  was  agita- 
ted by  strong  emotion. 


THE   EESCUE.  33*7 


CHAPTER  XXXV. 

WE  can  scarcely  like  time  to  inform  our  readers 
lhat  Mr.  Ballenger  was  not  unprepared  for  this  affect- 
ing meeting  with  his  daughter,  whom  he  believed  to 
be  dead  till  a  day  or  two  before  his  trial ;  and  we  must 
now  reluctantly  leave  the  courthouse  and  the  trial  to 
account  for  the  sudden  and  mysterious  appearance  of 
Miss  Ballenger  at  this  critical  conjuncture.  We  prom- 
ise to  return,  however,  with  as  little  delay  as  possible. 
The  ways  of  Providence  are  inscrutable,  and  the  wick- 
ed are  often  circumvented  by  what  seem  to  men  the 
merest  and  slightest  accidents.  Whoever  has  passed 
from  Lewisburg,  in  Greenbrier  county,  formerly  known 
in  the  Indian  wars  as  Camp  Union,  to  the  falls  of  the 
Great  Kanawha,  through  the  Shades  of  Death  and  the 
Loop,  needs  no  description  of  them  or  of  the  cliffs  of 
New  River  at  the  ferry,  or  the  cabin  on  the  left  bank 
of  the  river.  Its  lonely  situation  on  the  verge  of  the 
rapid  stream,  surrounded  by  mountains  of  wild  and 
savage  aspect,  overhanging  deep,  and  dark,  and  tangled 
ravines — the  precipitous  and  narrow  road,  hanging  out 
like  a  shelf  on  the  mountain  side  over  the  deep,  yawn- 
ing gulf  below,  descending  to  the  river,  rolling  three 
hundred  feet  beneath,  and  chafing,  in  its  headlong, 
maddened  course,  against  enormous  rocks,  which  have 
been  precipitated  from  the  cliffs  above  into  its  foaming 
channel — this  scenery  will  have  impressed  itself  on 
the  memory  of  all  who  have  passed  through  it.  The 
skins  nailed  up  against  that  cabin,  the  pile  of  deer's 
horns  near  it,  and  the  stuffed  skin  of  that  enormous 
rattlesnake  dangling  from*  the  doorpost,  tell  to  every 
traveller  what  are  the  inhabitants  of  that  wild  country. 
It  was  the  favourite  hunting-ground  of  Ben  Bramble. 
Rarely  did  he  fail  to  find  "  varmints"  here. 

The  week  before  the  trial  of  Mr.  Ballenger,  which 


338  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

Ben  resolved  to  attend,  believing  him  to  be  innocent, 
and  determined  to  render  him  every  assistance  in  his 
power,  he  set  out  with  his  friend  and  ally  in  wood- 
craft, Nat  Colly,  to  hunt  on  towards  the  ferry,  and 
thence  to  Lewisburg.  He  said  he  "  hated  to  speak 
evil  of  any  human  cretur,  but,  to  save  Ned  Ballenger's 
life,  he  meant  to  tell  them  as  fciod  him  all  his  mind 
about  Zac  Forster,  who,  he  had  larnt,  was  the  main 
witness  agin  him.  I'll  prove  him  onfit  to  give  evi- 
dence agin  a  man  that's  got  more  goodness  and  hon- 
esty in  the  eend  of  his  little  ringer  than  Zac  Forter's 
got  in  his  whole  carcass,  if  it  was  as  big  as  big  Sewell 
Mountain.  Nat,  you've  seed  him  take  out  and  put  in 
links  in  his  surveyin'  chain  when  he  thought  nobody 
was  lookin'  at  him  ?" 

"  Yes,  I  have,"  replied  Nat. 

They  had  made  their  way  to  the  ferry-house,  where 
they  stayed  all  night.  Hearing  there  that  signs  of  a 
large  bear  had  been  seen  making  up  the  river  on  the 
other  side,  they  recrossed  very  early  on  Thursday 
morning,  and  passed  up  it  by  a  route  unusual  even  to 
hunters,  hoping  to  fall  in  with  the  bear.  Ben's  dogs, 
Captain,  Rover,  and  Young  Kate,  like  their  master  and 
his  companion,  were  very  willing  to  rest  after  having 
explored  the  cliffs  of  New  River,  and  its  ivy-covered 
ravines,  for  some  ten  or  twelve  miles. 

Ben  and  Nat  had  seated  themselves  on  a  fallen  tree 
on  the  side  of  a  high,  rocky  hill,  some  h'fty  feet  above 
a  small  streamlet  that  passed  in  a  deep,  narrow  gorge 
along  the  western  base  of  the  hill.  Captain  and  Ro- 
ver were  coming  up  the  stream,  smelling  on  the  bushes, 
and  stones,  and  logs.  Kate  had  cut  across  the  hill,  as 
a  near  way,  and  was  soon  at  her  master's  feet. 

"  Poor  thing,"  said  Nat,  looking  at  the  young  hound, 
"  she's  mighty  down-hearted,  not  findin'  nothin'  even 
to  bark  at  in  these  hills." 

"  That's  not  it,"  said  Ben  ;  "  she's  bin  takin'  on  and 
mopin'  like,  that  poor  hound  has,  ever  since  Mattie 
Ballenger  was  drownded.  When  I  go  to  Balleri;  jr's, 
she  moans  like  a  human  cretur — hunts  all  on  the 


THE    RESCUE.  339 

nouse  and  gardin  for  her,  and  then  comes  to  me 
whinin'  and  whimperin'  like  a  child.  She'll  never  be 
no  profit  in  the  woods.  I  can't  be  mad  with  her  nor 
scold  her  for  it,  caze  it's  nat'ral  even  in  dumb  creturs 
to  love  them  as  loves  us,  and  mourn  for  'em,  too,  when 
they  are  tuck  away.  And  Mattie  Ballenger  and  this 
poor  slut  was  monstrous  intimate  and  lovin'.  She'd 
lay  her  head  in  her  lap  and  look  up  in  her  face  by  the 
hour,  while  Miss  Mattie  would  pat  her  head  and 
smooth  down  her  ears  with  her  soft,  while  hand. 
When  we  was  thar,  she  always  would  feed  Young 
Kate  herself  out  on  a  yearthenware  plate  the  same  as  if 
she  had  bin  a  human.  When  she  found  out  (and  she 
was  sure  to  find  it  out,  as  a  farmer's  old  dog  does 
when  he's  gwine  to  kill  a  beef)  that  I  was  goin'  to 
Ballenger's,  away  she'd  go  before  me,  friskiu'  and 
frolickin'  all  the  way,  and  git  thar  afore  I  was  half 
way.  But  when  I'd  come  away,  she'd  hang  back  and 
whine  like  a  humorsome,  spoilt  child  gwine  to  school." 

"  What's  got  into  her  now?"  said  Nat:  "here  she 
comes  like  mad." 

Young  Kate  dashed  right  up  to  Ben,  leaped  upon 
him,  whining  and  wa-gging  her  tail,  and  then  darted 
back  again  up  the  side  of  the  hill,  looking  back  at 
him,  evidently  inviting  him  to  follow  her.  After 
running  about  thirty  yards,  she  stopped  suddenly, 
thrust  her  nose  into  the  ground,  then  leaped  into  the 
air,  waving  her  tail  and  erecting  her  ears,  and  making 
the  most  extravagant  antics.  Both  the  men  arose  to 
their  feet. 

'•  Stop,  Nat,"  said  Ben.  "  Don't  budge  a  foot,  but 
keep  these  old  dogs  quiet.  Let  me  go  and  see  what 
Kate's  arter.  She's  either  gwine  mad,  or  thar's  some 
deviltry,  somethin'  onnat'ral  thar." 

Ben  approached  the  spot.  Kate  had  scratched 
away  the  moss,  and  there  was  a  crevice  in  the  rock, 
to  which  she  was  applying  her  nose.  Ben  kneeled 
down  and  put  his  ear  to  the  fissure,  and  then  his  eye. 
Nat  observed  him  in  this  position  for  at  least  ten  min- 
utes, every  now  and  then  raising  his  clinched  fist  in 


340  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

the  air,  and  shaking  it  furiously.  Nat's  patience  gave 
way,  and  he  cried  out,  "  Why,  what's  got  into  you  and 
Kate  ?  What  tarnal  nonsense  is  this  ?  both  runn'd 
stark  mad,  I  b'leve." 

Ben  turned  his  head  instantly  towards  Nat,  and 
made  a  sign  of  silence  and  danger  with  his  hand. 
He  then  took  Kate  in  his  arms,  with  his  hand  on  her 
mouth,  and  crept  back  as  softly  and  stealthily  as  if  life 
depended  on  the  silence  of  his  tread.  When  he 
reached  Nat,  he  set  his  teeth  hard  for  half  a  minute 
before  he  spoke  a  word,  and  then  he  said, 

"  Of  all  the  infarnal  villyans  and  devils  that  God 
lets  live,  Zac  Forster  is  the  beat.  That  poor  gal  that 
we  all  thought  was  drownded  and  in  heaven,  is  here 
under  ground  in  a  cave,  put  thar  by  him.  It's  as  true 
as  you  and  I  are  mortal  sinners,  Nat  Colly.  I  heard 
her  and  another  woman  as  plain  as  you  hear  me. 
Kate's  diskivered  the  rascal's  den.  He  ain't  in  it — I 
heard  'em  say  so.  But  we'll  fix  him,  as  sure  as  you 
ever  kilt  a  rattlesnake.  Nat,  jest  go  and  listen." 

Nat's  eyes  dilated  with  astonishment  as  he  said, 

"  Ben,  I'm  sorter  jouhous.  Ar  you  sure  they  wai 
humans  you  heard  ?  Maybe,  now,  it's  somethin'  on 
nat'ral — some  of  the  devil's  deceptions.  Thar's  strange 
things  in  these  mountins." 

"  I  tell  you,  Nat,  it's  nothin'  but  man's  devilment 
and  no  mistake  —  I  could  see  'em,  too,  and  I  smelt 
fryed  bacon  plain." 

"  Did  you  ?"  said  Nat.  "  Then  I'll  go— my  rifle's 
loaded,  anyhow.  But  do  you  keep  a  sharp  look-out, 
Ben  ;  and  lend  me  that  long  knife  of  yourn  —  mine 
ain't  long  enough  to  make  daylight  through  any  on- 
common  critter,  if  so  be  I  git  into  a  scrimmage  with 
one." 

Nat  strode  away  to  the  place,  looking  around  in 
every  direction,  and  every  now  and  then  stopping  to 
listen.  Ben  seated  himself  on  the  tree  and  watched 
him,  still  holding  Kate  in  his  arms,  who  struggled  vio- 
lently to  get  away  and  follow  Nat  to  the  crevice  in  the 
rock.  After  a  short  time  Nat  returned. 


THE    RESCUE.  341 

"  It's  as  true  as  preachin',"  said  he.  "  She's  down 
thar,  and  another  woman  tellin'  her  if  she  don't  marry 
Forster  afore  Monday,  her  father  will  swing  on  the 
gallows.  Thar's  a  man,  too — I  heard  his  voice.  He 
said, '  It's  too  late  now — Forster's  gone,  and  Ballenger 
swings  to  a  certainty.  You'll  not  see  Forster  till  that 
job's  done.  The  trial's  on  Monday,  you  know,  Polly 
IVJ'Cloud.'  Well,  Ben,  don't  this  beat  everything  you 
ever  heard  on  ?"  said  Nat. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  replied  Ben,  "  we  must 
diskiver  the  mouth  of  this  cave,  and  I'll  manage  the 
rest  pretty  quick.  •  How  fur  is  it  from  here  to  Squire 
Templeman's  1" 

"  About  seven  miles  across  the  hills,  I  judge,"  said 
Nat,  "  and  eight  or  ten  round  ;  I  can  git  thar  in  an 
hour  and  a  half,  or  two  hours  at  the  furdest." 

"  Well,"  said  Ben,  "  the  way  to  the  mouth  of  this 
devil's  den  must  make  up  somewhar  out  on  this  branch  ; 
thar  must  be  some  travellin'  to  it — some  signs  to  track 
the  devil  to  his  hole  as  well  as  a  bar  to  his'n.  Cap- 
tain and  Rover  knows  when  I'm  on  a  trail,  and  it's 
ther  business  to  foller  me,  and  keep  ther  mouths  shot 
as  well  as  I  do  ;  they'll  keep  quiet.  But  poor  Kate's 
in  such  a  takin'  I  shall  have  to  carry  her  in  my  arms, 
with  rny  hand  on  her  mouth,  or  she'll  be  sure  to  make 
a  fuss.  Here,  Nat,  take  my  gun,  and  keep  a  sharp 
eye  to  the  left-hand  side  of  the  branch." 

They  went  down  to  the  little  stream  opposite  the 
place  where  they  had  been  sitting,  and  walked  in  the 
water  down  the  ravine  till  they  were  nearly  opposite 
the  crevice  discovered  by  Kate,  and  nearly  fifty  feet 
below  it. 

"  See  here,"  whispered  Ben  :  "  a  shoe-print  in  the 
sand,  goin'  down  the  holler." 

"  Stop,  Ben,"  cried  Nat,  scarcely  above  his  breath  ; 
"  here's  a  path  under  these  ivy  bushes  right  above  my 
head,  goin'  out  of  the  branch,  and  slantia'  up  the  hill  ; 
and  I  can  see  the  same  track  in  the  path.  Take  your 
rifle,  and  I  can  crawl  on  all  fours  up  the  hill  and  see 
whar  it  leads  to." 


342  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

In  less  than,  five  minutes  Nat  was  seen  coming 
down  the  hill  backward,  like  a  bear  down  a  tree  ;  after 
getting  near  to  Ben,  he  turned,  and  came  into  the 
branch  at  the  same  point  from  which  he  had  ascended 

'•  It's  all  right,"  said  he.  "  The  mouth  is  up  thar 
under  that  rock,  covered  up  as  close  as  a  bird's  nest — 
about  the  'cutest  fixin'  you  ever  seed.  I  kotch  a  glimpse 
of  the  man  this  time.  He  was  settin'  noddin',  with  a 
gun  across  his  lap  and  a  lamp  lit  behind  him." 

Ben  knew  that  his  comrade's  information  was  en- 
tirely to  be  relied  on  when  nothing  unnatural  was  sus- 
pected which  might  disturb  his  senses,  and  he  plainly 
perceived  that  all  apprehensions  of  that  kijid  had  been 
dissipated  by  what  Nat  had  seen  and  heard.  His  plan 
of  operation  seemed  to  have  been  arranged  in  his 
mind,  for  no  sooner  had  Nat  informed  him  of  what  he 
had  seen  than  he  said,  in  a  whisper, 

"  You  or  I  must  stay  hid  on  this  hillside,  near 
enough  to  kill  anything  bigger  than  a  mink  that  can 
go  in  or  come  out  of  that  cave.  T'other  must  be  off 
to  the  squire's  to  git  a  sarch-warrant  and  a  possum  of 
men  to  git  here  afore  night,  or  if  in  the  night,  with 
lights,  to  be  lit  arter  we  surround  the  mouth  up  thar." 

"  I'll  go,"  said  Nat,  "and  be  back  with  men,  squire 
or  no  squire,  by  two  hours'  sun." 

"  Jest  tell  the  squire,"  said  Ben,  "  all  we've  seed 
and  hearn,  and  swear  to  it  for  me  and  you  too,  if  he 
says  so.  For  he's  the  right  sort  of  a  man,  head  and 
heart,  liver  and  gizzard — I've  seed  him  tried.  Bring 
the  Vandals  and  Huffs,  and  take  the  dogs  with  you, 
and  be  sure  to  bring  'em  back,  too ;  for  if  any  man  in 
that  cave  breaks  by  us,  Captain  and  Rover,  if  I  tell 
'em,  will  take  his  track  same  as  any  other  varmint. 
The  old  dogs  will  fuller  you,  and  I'll  carry  Kate  out 
on  hearin'  of  this  place,  then  put  this  string  round  her 
neck,  and  she'll  foller  quiet.  Leave  the  guns  with 
me.  Tell  the  squire  you  want  a  sarch-warrant  for  a 
stolen  'oman  and  the  thief — and  that's  wuss  than  for 
stolen  goods,  I  'spose." 

This  arrangement  was  no  sooner  agreed  on  than  it 


THE    RESCUE.  343 

was  put  in  execution.  Ben  returned,  and  took  his  sta- 
tion where  he  could  see  anything  that  should  pass  the 
mouth  of  the  cave  and  within  fifty  feet  of  it,  but  so  care- 
fully concealed  that  one  might  go  within  a  yard  of  him 
without  being  able  to  see  him. 

Nat  had  hardly  passed  three  miles  over  the  hills 
when  he  struck  the  road  leading  to  the  falls,  and  saw 
at  some  distance  behind  him  Charley  Vandal  riding 
briskly  up  to  him.  He  soon  overtook  Nat,  and  cried 
out, 

"  Why,  what's  the  matter,  Colly,  that  you  are  all 
dogs  and  no  gun  to-day  ?" 

"  Come  up,  Charley,  I've^fbt  news  for  you,  my  boy." 
"  What's  that,  friend  Coily  ?" 

"  Ben  Bramble  and  I  have  found  a  varmint's  den, 
that  we  are  afeard  to  enter  without  a  sarch-warrant 
and  a  posset,  and  I'm  gwine  to  the  squire's  for  the  war- 
rant, and  boys  enough  to  hold  the  old  one  a  scuffle,  any 
how." 

"  You  don't  say  so !  Nat,  I'm  your  man  for  that 
sport,  by  jolly.  Where's  Ben  ?" 

"  Watchin'  the  den  twell  I  git  back,  with  his  gun 
and  mine  too." 

"  Then  there  is  the  devil  to  pay  in  earnest,  Nat ;  for 

nothing  in  these  woods,  nor  nowhere  else,  I  believe, 

ever  drove  Ben  back  with  one  gun,  or  no  gun,  either." 

"  He's  made  out  on  straight-grained  timber,  I  know," 

said  Nat,  "  well  enough." 

"But  the  squire  ain't  at  home,  Nat;  he's  at  our 
house  ;  this  is  warrant  trying  day." 

"  So  much  the  better,"  said  Nat ;  "  it  is  nearer  than 
his  house,  and  we  can  git  the  men  thar  right  off  on 
the  ground." 

They  were  soon  at  old  Mr.  Vandal's,  and  Colly,  who 
was  well  known  to  Squire  Templeman,  stepped  up 
close  to  him,  as  he  was  seated  at  a  table,  having  a  few 
books  and  papers  before  him,  and  said, 

"  Squire,  not  to  interrupt  you,  one  word,  if  you 
please,  by  ourselves.  It's  no  small  warranting  matter, 
sir." 


344  NEW    HOPE  ;    OB, 

His  looks  and  manner  told  to  this  old  soldier  and 
excellent  magistrate  that  something  of  consequence 
was  to  be  communicated.  He  rose  from  his  seat,  and 
they  stepped  aside.  Five  minute's  afterward  Squire 
Templeman  called  his  constable,  and  said, 

"  Summon  a  posse  of  twelve  men  ;  see  that  they  are 
well  armed,  and  ready  to  go  with  me  in  half  an  hour. 
Adjourn  the  court." 

The  men,  who  were  in  little  groups  in  the  house, 
around  the  door,  and  in  the  yard,  were  all  wondering 
what  was  the  matter.  Conjecture  followed  conjecture 
in  quick  succession.  The  squire's  conference  with 
Colly  being  ended,  he  stepped  up  on  the  door-sill  arid 
called  the  attention  of  the  men.  They  crowded  around 
him,  and  he  said, 

"  My  friends  and  neighbours,  most  of  you  have  been 
soldiers,  or  are  the  sons  of  soldiers,  and  know  the  ne- 
cessity of  secrecy  and  silence  when  the  object  is  to 
catch  the  enemy  napping.  A  hiding-place  of  rascals, 
violators  of  the  law,  has  just  been  discovered,  and 
they  must  be  taken.  Now  let  me  advise  all  of  you  who 
do  not  choose  to  accompany  me  this  evening  to  go  qui- 
etly home,  and  to  say  not  one  word  of  this  matter. 
For  if  the  report  gets  out  that  they  are  discovered, 
those  in  the  place  will  arm  and  defend  themselves, 
causing  bloodshed  in  taking  them,  apd  all  the  rest  of 
the  gang  who  happen  to  be  out  will  hear  of  their  com- 
rades' being  taken,  and  make  their  escape,  instead  of 
falling  into  the  trap  that  will  be  set  for  them.  Be  si- 
lent as  death,  or  you  will  cause  a  very  bad  man  to  es- 
cape the  punishment  he  deserves,  and  the  murder  of 
innocent  persons,  whom  the  villains  now  hold  in  con- 
finement." 

There  was  whispering  among  the  men  when  Squire 
Templeman  ceased  to  speak,  and  one  of  the  men  then 
said, 

"  If  so  be  your  worship  will  allow,  we'll  all  go  with 
you,  squire." 

"  Very  well :  load  rifles,  saddle  horses,  and  let's  be 
off — we've  no  time  to  lose." 


THE   RESCUE.  345 

In  fifteen  minutes  the  constable  said, 

"  All  ready,  sir." 

"  Lead  on,  Nat  Colly,"  said  the  squire. 

There  were  fifteen  men.  They  soon  reached  the 
head  of  the  ravine  in  which  flowed  the  rivulet  that  pass 
ed  by  the  mouth  of  the  cave.  Here  they  alighted,  and 
tied  their  horses  out  of  sight  of  the  little,  scarcely  dis 
cernible  path  leading  down,  and  mostly  in  the  water. 
Squire  Templeman  then  explained  to  them  the  state 
of  the  case,  and  gave  them  his  orders.  Four  men 
stayed  with  the  horses  and  watched  the  ravine,  with 
directions  to  take  any  man  or  men  who  might  attempt 
to  pass  them.  The  rest  followed  Nat  Colly,  in  Indian 
file,  down  the  ravine.  Not  a  word  was  spoken,  and 
even  the  dogs,  Captain  and  Rover,  crept  along  as  if 
they  knew  a  surprise  of  something  was  meditated. 

The  mouth  of  the  cave  was  surrounded  by  the  men, 
at  the  distance  of  twenty  paces.  Ben  Bramble  crept 
out  from  his  lurking-place,  came  up  to  the  squire,  and 
said, 

"  The  devil  ain't  at  home,  yer  honour — here's  his 
den — but  one  of  his  cubs  is,  and  that  poor  innocent  gal, 
Captain  Ballenger's  darter,  that  to  all  appearance  was 
drownded  when  her  daddy  was  put  in  jail.  Shall  I 
haul  him  out  ?" 

"  Yes,  you  and  Charley  Vandal  and  Nat  Colly. 
There  may  be  more  than  you  suppose.  Be  ready, 
boys,  to  rush  in  and  help  them  if  need  be.  Here  are 
the  lights." 

Ben  had  hardly  moved  a  stick  of  the  brushwood 
concealing  the  entrance,  when  a  low  voice  within 
said, 

"  Whafs  the  time  of  day  ?" 

"  The  right  time  to  catch  varmints,"  said  Ben. 

"  The  hell  it  is  /"  and  a  rifle-ball  from  within  grazed 
Ben's  cap,  and  the  report,  with  stunning  reverberation, 
rang  through  the  cave. 

In  rushed  Ben,  closely  followed  by  Nat  and  Char- 
ley.    7'hey  had  not  advanced  five  steps  into  the  cave 
when  they  heard  a  violent  scuffling  oft  their  right,  and 
15 


346  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

the  chokkig  sound  of  a  voice,  in  half-stifled  tones,  ex- 
claiming, "  Take  'em  off,  the  d — d  dogs — they'll  kill 
me."  The  worrying,  low  growls  of  the  dogs,  Cap- 
tain and  Rover,  mingled  with  the  choking  sound  of 
the  voice. 

"  That's  the  time  of  day,  is  it  ?"  said  Ben,  darting 
to  the  spot,  and  releasing  the  man  from  the  hold  of 
his  dogs,  who,  unperceived,  had  entered  under  the 
brush  and  seized  the  man  in  his  low,  narrow  place  of 
'concealment.  "  It's  well  you  gin  up  so  quick,"  he  con- 
tinued, dragging  the  man  into  the  light,  "  or  Captain, 
would  have  stopped  yer  squawlin'  in  no  time,  though 
you  ar  an  oncommon  varmint.  Here,  boys,  sarch  this 
critter ;  maybe  he's  got  claws,  that  he'll  be  tryin'  to 
dig  into  some  on  us.  Thar,  that'll  do  ;  deliver  him  to 
the  squire." 

As  soon  as  the  man  reached  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
and  saw  it  surrounded  by  armed  men,  he  turned  pale 
and  shrunk  back. 

"  Hello !  mister,"  said  Ben  to  him,  "  if  you  don't 
want  to  stretch  some  of  them  hickory  saplings  with 
that  neck  of  yourn,  make  straight  answers  to  what  I'm 
gwine  to  ax  you.  How  many  ground  hogs  are  in  this 
hole  ?" 

"  None  but  women." 

11  Whar's  Zac  Forster  ?" 

The  man  turned  his  scowling  eyes  on  Ben,  and 
said,  "  D — n  him,  I  don't  know." 

"  When  was  he  here  ?"  The  man  hesitated.  "  Take 
him  to  the  squire,"  said  Ben. 

As  soon  as  the  man  saw  Squire  Templeman  he 
hung  down  his  head,  and  said, 

"  I  see  it's  no  use  ;  the  game's  up.  It's  all  Forster's 
doing,  squire,  as  I  hope  for  mercy." 

"  When  will  Mr.  Forster  be  here  ?"  inquired  Squire 
Templeman. 

il  Not  till  after  the  trial  on  Monday,"  was  the  re- 
ply. 

"  When  was  he  here  ?" 
Yesterday  night." 


THE    RESCUE.  347 

The  squire,  looking  the  man  full  in  the  face,  said, 
"  You  can  only  hope  for  mercy,  Joe  Swinton"  (the 
man  trembled  at  the  mention  of  his  own  name),  "  by 
confessing  the  whole  truth.  Where  are  the  rest  of  your 
gang  ?" 

"  Some  in  Kentuck  and  over  the  Ohio,  and  some 
with  Forster." 

"  When  will  they  be  here  T' 

"  At  no  set  time — just  as  it  happens — as  they  can." 

He  stopped  short,  and  the  squire  added, 

"  As  they  can  pass  off  the  counterfeit  money.  Make 
a  clean  breast  of  it,  sir.  I  shall  see  what's  in  this 
cave,  you  may  be  well  assured.  Where  are  the  tools  ?" 

"  Here,"  said  the  man,  pointing  to  the  cave. 

"  Very  well,  we  shall  see,"  added  Squire  Temple- 
man. 

While  these  things  were  taking  place  at  the  mouth 
of  the  cave,  a  very  different  scene  was  enacting  with- 
in. The  old  woman  (it  was  Polly  M'Cloud),  hearing 
the  sound  of  the  gun  and  the  scuffle  of  the  dogs  with 
Joe  Swinton,  had  thrown  a  bar  across  the  door  of  a 
small  chamber  separated  from  the  broad,  downward 
avenue  in  the  cave  by  a  partition  of  plank,  and  was 
crouching  down  with  her  ear  near  the  ground,  listen- 
ing with  breathless  eagerness.  Matilda  Ballenger  had 
thrown  herself  on  a  low  truckle-bed,  where  she  sat 
trembling,  anxious  and  alarmed,  yet  with  some  glim- 
mering of  hope  that  the  disturbance  might  not  be  a 
broil  among  the  vile  inmates  of  the  cave,  which  had  hap- 
pened more  than  once  since  she  had  been  its  unwill- 
ing and  unhappy  tenant.  "  Oh  !  if  it  is  discovered  !" 
thought  she  ;  "  but  if  not,  prepare  my  heart,  heavenly 
Father,"  she  said  aloud,  "  for  the  trials  that  await  me, 
and  oh!  remember  —  remember  my  father.  O  my 
God,  have  mercy  on  him  in  his  heavy  afflictions." 

"  Always  a  praying,"  muttered  Polly  M'Cloud. 
"What  good  does  that  do?  You'll  never  pray  your- 
self out  of  this  place,  nor  your  father  out  of  Greenbri- 
er  jail  till  he  swings,  if  you  don't  come  to,  and  marry 
Isaac  Forster  before  he's  sentenced." 


348  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

"  Never,  never  !"  said  Matilda.  "  Cease,  I  pray 
you,  this  hateful — Heavens  !  what  is  that  1" 

The  voice  of  Ben  Bramble  was  heard  saying  to 
Young  Kate,  who  was  scratching  and  whining  at  the 
door,  "  Ah !  Kate,  you  are  a  faithful  critter.  She's  in 
thar.  You  shall  soon  lick  her  hand,  and  show  her  the 
way  out  on  this  cussed  den." 

At  the  sound  of  his  voice,  Matilda,  with  one  leap, 
reached  the  door,  wrenched  the  bar  from  the  hasp,  and 
fell  senseless  at  the  feet  of  the  hardy  hunter,  whose 
tears  fell  fast  as  he  bent  over  her  pallid,  grief-worn 
face. 

"  Poor  innocence  !  it's  overcome  her  quite,"  said 
Ben,  as  he  took  her  in  his  arms  and  laid  her  on  the 
bed.  "  Bring  some  water  here,  you  old  devil's  darling, 
or  I'll  make  you  uglier  than  you  are." 

"  Brandy's  better,  sir,"  replied  Polly  M'Cloud. 

"  For  sich  as  you ;  bring  water,  I  say,"  exclaimed 
Ben,  "  and  sprinkle  her  face,  or  I'll  give  you  sich  a 
sprinklin'  as  will  cool  all  the  brandy  in  your  carcass." 

Ben  believed  this  woman  the  accomplice,  and  not 
the  victim,  as  our  readers  know  her  to  be,  of  Forster 
and  his  crew.  Kate  had  crept  up  on  the  bed,  and  laid 
her  head  upon  Matilda's  arm.  As  the  old  woman  ap- 
proached to  sprinkle  the  face  of  the  fainting  girl,  Kate 
rose  up  and  snapped  at  her  hand,  growling  furiously. 
Ben  snatched  the  water  from  her,  and  while  perform- 
ing an  office  to  which  he  was  all  unused,  looking  first 
at  the  reviving  girl  and  then  at  Kate,  he  said, 

"  Them  as  says  dumb  critters  has  got  no  sense  and 
fellow-feelin',  don't  know  nothin'  about  natur.  Lie 
still,  Miss  Mattie,"  continued  Ben,  as  he  saw  her  open 
her  eyes  and  look  wildly  around,  while  the  affection- 
ate hound  nestled  up  to  her  and  licked  her  arm.  "  You 
are  safe  now." 

"  And  my  father  ?" 

"  Safe  too,  undoubtedly,  my  dear  young  lady,"  said 
Squire  Templeman,  who  had  entered  the  cave,  "  since 
this  most  foul  and  wicked  conspiracy  has  been  brought 
to  light  by  the  hand  of  Providence." 


THE    RESCUE.  349 

"  Heavenly  Father  !  I  thank  thee,"  said  Matilda, 
raising  herself  on  her  knees,  and  stretching  her  hands 
and  directing  her  eyes  towards  the  heavens,  from  which 
she  was  shut  out ;  "  and  oh  !  that  thy  blessing — thy 
richest  blessing,  may  descend  on  those  who  have  been 
thy  instruments  in  saving  us  from  the  wiles  of  the 
wicked.  Oh  !  sir — oh  !  my  dear  Ben  Bramble,  take 
me  from  this  horrid  place.  He  will  come  with  his 
bad  men,  and — and — you  do  not  know  how  desperate- 
ly wicked  he  is." 

"  Be  composed,  Miss  Ballenger  ;  make  yourself  per- 
fectly easy  on  that  score.  We  have  stout  hearts  and 
unerring  rifles  enough  around  you  to  defy  fifty  For- 
sters,  and  to  shield  you  from  every  danger.  You  shall 
soon  be  under  the  shelter  of  my  roof — Templeman  is 
my  name." 

"  Thanks,  sir,  a  thousand  thanks,  Mr.  Templeman. 
But  tell  me  to  what  or  to  whom,  under  Providence,  do 
I  owe  this  signal  and  timely  deliverance  ?" 

"  There  stands  the  man,"  said  the  squire,  pointing 
to  Ben  Bramble,  "  to  whose  prudence  and  courage  you 
are  indebted." 

"  I  can't  take  it  all  to  myself,  squire,"  said  Ben. 
"  You  and  them  brave  boys,  Charley  and  Nat  Colly  in 
particular,  and,  more  than  all,  Young  Kate,  has  been 
God's  instruments  in  this  thing...  She  made  the  first 
diskivery — she  did.  She  told  Nat  and  me,  as  plain  as 
a  dumb  critter  can  speak,  that  Miss  Mattie  was  here 
onder  ground.  That's  the  raal  truth  of  the  case. 
Young  Kate  resqued  her.  She'd  never  have  come  to 
light  if  it  hadn't  bin  for  this  hound — that  is  to  say,  hu- 
manly speakin'." 

Here  Ben  related  the  circumstances  of  the  discovery 
as  they  occurred,  to  the  astonishment  of  the  whole  party, 
who  had  collected  in  the  cave,  with  the  exception  of 
the  guard  stationed  at  its  mouth.  Squire  Templeman 
now  proceeded  to  explore  the  cave,  leaving  Ben  Bram- 
ble and  Charley  Vandal  with  Matilda,  who  insisted  on 
goin^  out  immediately  into  the  open  air.  She  often  de- 
clared afterward  that  it  was  imjpossible  to  describe,  and 


350  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

scarcely  possible  to  conceive,  the  sensations  she  felt  on 
seeing  the  heavens,  the  sun,  and  the  objects  on  the  earth 
after  having  been  shut  out  from  them  for  more  than  three 
months.  She  had  seen  nothing,  during  all  that  time,  but 
objects  under  ground  by  the  feeble  light  of  a  lamp.  The 
glare  of  the  sun  was  intolerably  dazzling  j  every  object 
looked  large  and  bright,  as  seen  through  a  solar  micro 
scope ;  and  the  air  fell  so  light  she  almost  thought  i< 
was  lifting  her  up  from  the  ground.  To  breathe  it  waa 
a  positive  perceptible  enjoyment,  like  tasting  a  delicious 
fruit.  The  autumnal  woods  presented  a  panoramic  pic- 
ture of  God's  own  painting,  so  vivid  and  distinct  that 
she  wondered  at  and  admired  it,  as  she  supposed  one 
translated  to  a  newly-created  and  more  beautiful  world 
would  wonder  at  and  admire  it. 

Squire  Templemari  passed  down  the  main  passage 
of  the  cave,  and  soon  came  to  a  large  open  space,  fifty 
feet  wide  and  a  hundred  or  more  in  length  before  it  be- 
came narrow  again,  and  the  roof  was  a  dome  thirty 
feet  above  his  head.  Here  he  found  provisions  for  a 
dozen  men,  sufficient  to  last  them  three  or  four  months, 
and  arms,  guns,  swords,  pistols,  and  knives.  Broken 
bottles,  glasses,  and  playing-cards  were  scattered  on 
the  floor  of  solid  rock.  A.  long  table  ran  half  way 
through  this  room ;  towards  the  farther  end,  on  each 
side,  were  truckle-beds  or  pallets  on  a  plank  platform ; 
beyond  these,  on  one  side,  three  feet  above  the  floor, 
was  a  strong  door  fixed  in  the  solid  rock,  constituting 
the  side  wall  of  the  cave.  There  was  a  very  large 
iron-guarded  keyhole  in  this  door. 

"  Here,"  said  Templeman,  "  we  shall  find  some  of 
the  secrets  of  this  cave.  Joe  Swinton,  where  is  the 
key  of  this  hole  ?" 

"  Forster  keeps  that  himself." 

"  Very  well,  my  men,  we  can  easily  open  it.  Give 
me  a  tomahawk." 

"  Here's  an  axe,"  said  Billy  Huff;  "  we  found  it  un- 
der the  old  woman's  bed." 

The  door  was  forced,  and  within  there  was  oarely 
room  for  a  large,  strong  box  of  wood,  which,  when 


THE    RESCUE.  351 

drawn  out,  was  found  to  have  filled  the  whole  cavity, 
and  was  itself  nearly  filled  with  papers,  neatly  arranged 
in  bundles  and  labelled. 

"  Let  us  pass  on,"  said  the  squire  ;  "  this  is  not  all. 
Swinton  has  a  department  of  his  own  in  this  thieves' 
palace.  He  well  knows  that  I  am  informed  of  the 
trade  at  which  he  works.  This  is  not  the  first  time 
I've  had  to  do  with  that  gentleman.  Lead  on." 

The  cave  became  narrow  and  low,  and  descended 
steeply  to  the  right.  Here,  at  the  bottom  of  a  flight  of 
rude  steps,  they  arrived  at  another  door,  which  Swin- 
ton seemed  unwilling  to  approach. 

"  Where's  the  axe  ?"  said  Templeman,  "  unless 
Swinton  can  find  the  key." 

There  was  a  pause  of  sonic  seconds,  when  Temple- 
man, looking  sternly  at  Swinton,  said, 

"  Surely  you  are  not  fool  enough  to  suppose  that 
anything  you  can  do  or  refuse  to  do  will  prevent  me 
from  seeing  and  searching  that  room,  and  every  hole 
and  cranny  in  this  cave." 

"  The  key's  under  that  stone  of  the  third  step,"  said 
Swinton. 

The  door  was  opened,  and  the  lights  presented  a 
strange  spectacle.  Furnaces,  sand,  coal,  moulds  for 
melting,  crucibles,  screws,  bars  of  metal,  dies,  punches, 
bank-note  plates,  a  work-bench  with  a  great  variety  of 
tools  and  several  books  ;  shelves  with  bags  of  spurious 
coins,  a  quantity  of  bank-note  paper  of  different  tex- 
tures and  qualities,  and  bundles  of  finished  counterfeit 
notes  ;  vials  and  bottles  of  acids  and  other  chemicals, 
and  in  one  corner  a  wardrobe  and  gentleman's  toilet, 
both  of  which  were  well  furnished.  There  was  no 
avenue  beyond,  but  a  tube  with  flexible  joints  was  dis- 
covered entering  the  wall.  On  examination,  this  was 
found  to  be  an  escape  pipe  for  smoke,  which  could  be 
adjusted  to  any  of  the  furnaces.  On  returning  to  the 
mouth,  the  sides  and  floor  were  carefully  examined, 
but  no  other  apartment  or  avenue  could  be  discovered 
in  the  cave.  It  was  thoroughly  explored. 

The  contents  of  Forster's  box,  the  arms,  and,  in- 


352  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

deed,  everything  transportable  on  horses,  were  put  into 
the  emptied  bed-sacks,  tools,  money,  and  all,  and  the 
whole  party  marched  out.  Seven  men,  commanded  by 
Charley  Vandal,  were  left  on  watch  to  arrest  any  per- 
sons who  might  come  to  the  cave.  They  were  to  be 
relieved  the  next  day.  Joe  Swinton,  well  secured, 
was  mounted  on  a  horse,  with  Billy  Huff  behind  him. 
Polly  M'Cloud  was  placed  behind  one  of  the  men,  and 
Matilda  Ballenger  rode  behind  the  squire.  The  other 
men  carried  the  articles  found  in  the  cave  on  the  horses 
of  the  men  who  were  left  on  watch,  and  away  the 
party  went,  and  arrived  at  Squire  Templeman's  just  as 
the  sun  was  descending  below  the  western  horizon. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI. 

Ox  the  arrival  of  the  party  at  Squire  Temple- 
man's, he  took  proper  measures  for  the  safe-keep- 
ing of  Joe  Swinton  and  Polly  M'Cloud,  and  for  the 
refreshment  of  the  men.  He  held  a  sort  of  coun- 
cil of  war  with  Ben  Bramble  and  four  or  five  of  the 
men  who  had  served  under  him  in  the  army,  and 
two  or  three  active  young  men  were  sent  off  that 
night  in  different  directions,  with  letters  vnd  ver- 
bal orders.  His  daughter  Helen,  filled  with  sym- 
pathy, and  feeling,  also,  a  natural  curiosity,  which 
she  repressed  as  much  as  she  could,  exerted  her- 
self, by  the  kindest  words  and  the  tenderest  assi- 
duities, to  render  Matilda  comfortable.  Every- 
thing on  her  toilet  and  in  her  wardrobe  was  placed 
at  her  disposal  with  the  most  cordial,  sister-like, 
and  unostentatious  kindness.  Matilda's  heart  was 
touched  by  these  attentions  j  she  received  them 
in  the  spirit  in  which  they  were  tendered  ;  and 
these  two  young  ladies,  in  half  an  hour,  felt  as  if 
they  were  old  acquaintances  and  intimate  friends. 


THE    RESCUE.  353 

To  her  inexpressible  joy,  Matilda  learned  from  Hel- 
en the  safe  return  of  her  brother  from  Kentucky, 
his  conference  with  his  father,  his  journey  to  Vir- 
ginia, and  his  return  ;  the  discovery  of  the  charac- 
ter of  Isaac  Forster  as  a  land-agent,  the  sale  of  a 
little  piece  of  land  in  Kentucky  by  William  Henry 
for  three  hundred  pounds,  and  the  great  value  of 
her  father's  lands,  which  Isaac  Forster  had  repre- 
sented as  worth  nothing. 

"  How  in  the  world,"  said  Matilda,  "  did  you,  ob- 
tain all  this  happy  news!  They  may  be  only  re- 
ports, dear  Helen.  I  am  almost  afraid  to  believe 
them,  lest  they  should  prove  untrue." 

"Oh,  they  are  true,"  replied  Helen,  blushing 
deeply.  "  Your  brother  called  here  on  his  way  to 
Virginia  to  see  papa  on  business." 

"Ah  !  Helen,"  said  Matilda,  "my  brother  keeps 
no  secrets  from  me,  and  I  know  very  well  that  the 
greater  part  of  his  business  here  was  with  a  cer- 
tain Miss  Helen  Templeman,  whom  he  loves  better 
even  than  this  poor  sister  of  his.  Don't  break  out 
the  teeth  of  that  comb,  dear  Helen,  but  help  me  to 
untangle  my  neglected  hair  with  it." 

Helen  threw  her  arms  around  Matilda's- neck  and 
kissed  her.  Her  eyes  were  filled  with  tears,  but 
they  were  not  bitter  tears.  When  they  came  out 
to  supper,  Matilda  was  composed,  if  not  cheerful, 
and  George  Arbuckle  Templeman,  who  had  been 
absent  from  home  all  day'  and  knew  nothing  of 
what  had  happened,  when  he  saw  Matilda  enter  the 
room  arm  in  arm  with  his  sister,  started  as  if  he 
had  seen  a  ghost,  then  ran  up  to  her  and  embraced 
her,  crying  out, 

"Thank  God  !  thank  God  !  she  is  alive  and  not 
drowned,  after  all.  Oh!  Mattie  dear,  how  did  it 
happen  1" 

"  Not  now,  George,"  said  his  father.  "  Let  Miss 
Ballenger  eat  her  supper.  You  shall  hear  it  all." 

Matilda  had  briefly  related  to  the  squire  and  to 
Helen  all  the  circumstances.  After  supper,  Squire 
15* 


354  NEW    HOPE  J    OR, 

Tempi«.«tian  requested  to  have  a  few  minutes'  pri- 
vate c  mversation  with  Miss  Matilda,  which  being 
had,  the  young  ladies  retired  to  their  chamber,  but 
Buck  was  soon  at  the  door,  asking  admittance.  In 
he  woulu  go,  and  remained  with  them  till  near  elev- 
en o'clock  nt  night.  Squire  Templeman  retired  to 
his  chamoer,  and  before  day  Buck  was  in  the  sad- 
dle on  tne  road  to  Lewisburg  with  the  following 
letter  to  Judge  ,  an  old  schoolmate  and  inti- 
mate friend  of  Templeman,  who,  the  squire  knew, 
would  be  one  of  the  judges  of  the  Superior  Court, 
the  session  of  which  was  to  commence  on  the  Mon- 
day following. 

"  October  14th,  '99. 

"DsiR  JUDGE, 

"  One  of  those  signal  interpositions  of  Provi- 
dence, which  are  called  and  thought  to  be  happy 
accidentc,  has  just  disclosed  to  us  one  of  the  most 
foul  and  base  conspiracies  that  ever  disgraced  a 
civilized  country.  Miss  Ballenger,  the  daughter 
of  Mr.  Edward  Ballenger,  now  in  jail  at  Lewisburg, 
accused  of  murder,  whom  we  all  believed  to  have 
been  drowned  accidentally  on  the  evening  of  the 
day  on  which  her  father  was  arrested,  is  now  in 
my  house,  rescued  from  a  cave  discovered  by  Ben 
Bramble,  a  hunter,  an  old  and  excellent  soldier  of 
mine.  And  who,  sir,  do  you  imagine,  could  be  the 
villain  to  plan  and  execute  this  outrage  1  No  oth- 
er than  Mr.  Isaac  Forster.  The  plan  was  to  induce 
her  to  rnarry  him,  in  order  to  save  the  life  of  her 
father,  and  to  cover  the  frauds  of  this  precious  vil- 
lain as  a  land-agent,  by  his  becoming  the  son-in 
law  of  the  man  whom  he  had  deceived  in  regard 
to  the  value  of  large  landed  estates,  and  whose 
life  he  had  put  in  jeopardy.  Indeed,  it  is  very 
doubtful,  from  a  forged  will  made  for  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger found  among  Forster's  papers  in  the  cave,  if 
he  had  succeeded,  through  the  fears  of  the  young 
lady  for  her  father's  life,  in  inducing  her  to  marry 


THE   RESCUE.  355 

him,  whether  he  would  not  still  have  sacrificed  the 
father  in  order  to  ensure  success  to  his  ultimate 
design,  the  possession  of  the  immensely  valuable 
landed  estate  of  Mr.  Ballenger.  But  Miss  Ballen- 
ger,  with  unparalleled  fortitude  and  constancy,  sup- 
ported by  her  unshaken  dependance  on  her  God, 
withstood  all  his  threats,  and  rejected  all  his  pro- 
posals. And  this  is  not  all.  In  his  den  we  found 
the  notorious  "Joe  Swinton,  the  counterfeiter,  with 
all  his  tools  and  apparatus  j  a  large  supply  of  pro- 
visions, arms,  and  counterfeit  money,  and  a  box  of 
Isaac  Forster's  papers,  which  prove  his  frauds  and 
develop  his  designs.  Who  could  have  imagined 
that  honest  Isaac  Forster  was  the  captain  and  con- 
troller of  this  gang  of  thieves  1  Yet  so  it  is.  I 
have  got  secured  Joe  Swinton  and  an  old  woman, 
Polly  M'Cloud,  who,  it  would  seem,  has  been  the 
dupe,  drudge,  and  victim  rather  than  the  accom- 
plice of  these  men.  There  were  none  others  in  the 
cave  except  Miss  Ballenger  when  it  was  discover- 
ed ;  but  I  have  taken  measures  which,  I  hope,  with 
your  co-operation,  will  succeed  in  apprehending 
the  rest  of  the  gang. 

"  I  send  a  warrant  for  the  arrest  of  Forster  ;  but, 
with  all  due  deference  for  your  better  judgment,  an 
old  soldier  would  suggest  that  it  would  be  better 
to  have  him  watched  night  and  day  by  confidential 
persons,  to  prevent  his  escape,  and  not  to  give  him 
the  slightest  knowledge  of  what  has  transpired,  or 
that  his  villany  is  known.  Some  of  his  associates 
in  crime  are  no  doubt  with  him,  or  within  his  call, 
and  if  he  were  arrested  they  would  instantly  fly — 
escape  themselves,  and  give  notice  to  the  others 
that  their  den  was  discovered,  and  thus  all  of  them 
would  escape  the  hands  of  justice.  Forster  him- 
self is  one  of  the  principal  witnesses  against  Mr. 
Ballenger.  Would  it  not  be  best  to  let  him  play 
the  play  out  as  a  witness,  till  it  comes  to  the  last 
scene,  that  it  may  be  thoroughly  understood  what 
he  is,  and  then  arrest  himl  I  will  certainly  be 


356  NE\V  HOPE  ;  OR, 

ready,  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Lewisburg,  on 
Monday,  with  Miss  Ballenger,  Joe  Swinton,  Polly 
M'Cloud,  and  Ben  Bramble,  to  appear  in  court  du- 
ring the  trial,  so  soon  as  Forster's  testimony  shall 
have  been  given.  In  regard  to  communicating 
these  facts,  and  that  his  daughter  still  lives,  to  Mr. 
Ballenger  and  his  counsel,  I  leave  the  time  and 
manner  to  you,  sir,  confident  that  I  could  not  con- 
fide it  to  an  abler  head  or  a  better  heart.  I  should 
put  the  most  important  facts  in  this  letter  in  the 
form  of  an  affidavit,  if  I  did  not  know  that  you  will 
rely  on  any  statement  made  by. 

"Your  old  friend  and  obedient  servant, 

"EDWARD  TEMPLEMAN. 

"  P.S. — I  enclose  several  letters  and  papers  for 
your  inspection.  My  son  Getftrge  will  hand  you 
this,  who  will  bear  to  me  any  communication  you 
may  be  pleased  to  make.  You  will  recognise  the 
handwriting  of  the  enclosed  letter,  signed  Samuel 
Carter,  ship-marked  Liverpool.'.  E.  T 

"  To  Judge ,  Lewisburg." 

The  letter  alluded  to  in  the  postscript  of  Squire 

Templeman's  letter  to  the  judge  read  thus : 

« 

"  Liverpool. 

"  How  is  this,  Isaac  Forster  1  Have  I  been  made 
the  dupe  as  well  as  the  instrument  of  your  infernal 
wickedness  1  If  so,  you  shall  pay  a  heavy  reckon- 
ing. When  I  embarked  for  this  port,  1  carried  on 
board  several  newspapers,  which  I  did  not  read  till 
out  at  sea;  among  the  rest,  the  Alexandria  Ga- 
zette, in  which  there  is  an  account  of  the  murder 
of  Job  Terry,  the  poor  pedler,  whom  you  made  me 
believe  that  I  had  unfortunately  and  unintentional- 
ly killed  by  a  blow  on  the  head  with  my  cane.  So 
he  was  stabbed  in  two  places,  and  these  caused  his 
death,  says  the  coroner's  inquest,  and  not  the  blow 
on  the  head.  Thank  God  for  that !  It  takes  a 
heavy  load  from  my  heart.  Intoxicated,  and  angry 


THE   RESCUE.  357 

as  I  was  at  his  accusing  me  of  passing  counterfeit 
money  knowingly — which  you  well  know  I  received 
from  you — as  God  is  my  judge,  I  had  no  intention 
of  injuring  him  seriously,  much  less  of  taking  his 
life.  You  have  done  this  deed  of  murder,  Isaac 
Forster ;  for  I  know  the  man  was  dead  before  we 
left  him,  and  you  urged  me  to  fly  for  my  life,  which 
I  did  till  I  put  the  ocean  between  me  and  the  offi 
cers  of  the  la"\v,  who,  1  believed,  would  soon  be  af 
ter  me.  Nobody  was  present  but  us.  Little  did 
I  think  that  you  had  urged  me  on  to  chastise  the 
pedler  for  his  insolence,  that  you  might  take  his 
life  in  the  dark  5  but  1  see  it  all  now,  plain  enough 
And  that  worthy,  good  gentleman,  Edward  Ballen- 
ger,  near  whose  house  the  deed  was  done,  has  been 
arrested  for  the  murder.  By  the  eternal  God  !  if  a 
hair  of  his  head  is  touched,  and  1  live  to  reach 
America,  I  will  visit  upon  you  the  vengeance  you 
so  richly  deserve.  I  know  that  I  have  been  a  wild 
and  dissipated  scapegrace,  but  not  the  villain  you 
take  me  for,  or  would  make  me.  So  beware,  Isaac 
Forster,  of  one  who  now  knows  you. 

"SAMUEL  CARTER." 

The  judge,  after  reading  these  letters,  commu- 
nicated their  contents  to  Mr.  Randolph,  one  of  Mr. 
Ballenger's  counsel,  a  gentleman  distinguished  as 
much  for  legal  ability  and  eloquence  as  he  was  for 
elegant  and  courteous  manners,  benevolence,  and 
all  the  social  virtues.  He  was  a  relative,  too,  of 
Squire  Templeman's  wife.  He  visited  Mr.  Ballen- 
ger  in  the  jail,  and  communicated  to  him  the  joy- 
ful news  of  his  daughter  being  alive  and  in  safety, 
and  the  certainty  of  his  own  acquittal.  Mr.  Wick- 
ham  and  Mr.  Walker  were  also  informed  of  these 
facts  ;  but  it  was  thought  best  that  the  common- 
wealth's attorney  should  know  nothing  of  them,  so 
that  the  trial  of  Mr.  Ballenger  might  go  on,  in  or- 
der to  develop  the  conspiracy,  detect  all  those  con- 
cerned in  it,  and  to  bring  them  and  the  counter- 


358  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

feiters  to  justice.     Hence  thg  novel  and  extraordi 
nary  course  of  Mr.  Ballenger's  counsel  in  that  part 
of  the  trial  which  we  have  s,$en. 

Gentle  reader,  we  must  now  cross  the  wide  At- 
lantic and  follow  Samuel  Carter,  who  thought,  when 
he  precipitately  fled  from  Kanawha  to  the  sea- 
board, that  he  had  killed  Job  Terry. 


CHAPTER  XXXVII. 

"  So  you  are  about  to  leave  us,  Mr.  Carrington  1" 
said  a  very  pleasant-looking,  elderly  lady,  to  a 
young  gentleman  of  the  most  prepossessing  ap- 
pearance and  elegant  manners,  a's  she  took  her  seat 
at  the  tea-table  of  one  of  the  best  private  boarding- 
houses  in  Liverpool. 

"  Yes,  madam,  the  day  after  to-morrow  I  hope 
to  be  on  the  way  to  the  'land  of  the  free  and  the 
home  of  the  brave.'  " 

"  Only  hear  that,"  said  Mrs.  Blanchard.  "  These 
Americans  think,  or  affect  to  think,  there's  no  place 
like  home — like  their  home  in  the  wild  woods. 
Everything  belonging  to  or  appertaining  to  them 
or  their  country  is  the  best  in  the  world.  Really, 
I  am  almost  tempted  sometimes  to  cross  the  water, 
just  to  see  with  my  own  eyes  what  braggadocios 
they  are." 

"Ah!  my  dear  madam,  don't  do  that ;  for,  in  the 
first  place,  you'd  never  desire  to  come  back;  and, 
in  the  second,  if  you  did,  we'd  desire  and  try  to 
keep  you  there.  But  we  inherit  our  feelings  and 
prejudices  from  our  growling,  honest,  stubborn  an- 
cestor that  inhabits  this  sea-girt  island:  it  is  pure 
John  Bullism.  When  did  John  ever  find  any  place 
to  compare  with  this  cloud-covered,  foggy  island, 
or  anything  equal  to  the  king,  lords,  and  commons, 


THE    RESCUE.  359 

roast  beef,  plum-pudding,  and  strong  beer,  that  are 
found  in  it?" 

"Well,  notwithstanding  all  your  fantastic  no- 
tions, Mr.  Ciirrington,  about  America,  and  your 
prejudices  against  Old  England,  I  shall  be  sorry, 
very  sorry  to  part  with  you." 

"Prejudices  against  Old  England!  My  dear 
madam,  you  do  me  and  all  my  enlightened  coun- 
trymen injustice  by  the  supposition.  Next  to  our 
own  country,  we  hold  England  in  the  highest  es- 
teem. Almost  all  our  institutions  are  borrowed 
from  her.  Although  we  are  separated  from  her, 
and  have  become  an  independent,  sovereign  peo- 
ple, still  we  are  bound  together  by  ties  of  great, 
and,  1  hope,  lasting  strength.  Are  we  not  of  the 
same  sturdy,  liberty-loving,  Anglo-Saxon  blood  1 
We  speak  the  same  language,  read  the  same  books, 
and  profess  the  same  holy,  heaven-revealed  reli- 
gion. Many  of  those  great  safeguards  of  life,  lib- 
erty, reputation,  and  property,  are  the  same  in  both 
countries,  and  derived  from  this:  the  trial  by  jury, 
the  habeas  corpus,  the  right  of  petition  and  of  rep- 
resentation, and  no  taxation  without  representa- 
tion, and  the  law  of  libel.  No,  no,  madam,  in  many 
respects  we  are  one  people  still  j  and  although  we 
have  an  elective  president  and  you  a  king  with 
limited  and  well-defined  powers;  although  com- 
mercial, manufacturing,  and  territorial  competition 
may  occasionally  cause  a  little  jarring,  yet,  guided 
by  moderate,  magnanimous,  and  just  counsels,  and 
by  the  spirit  of  peace  dictating  mutual  forbearance 
and  concession,  best  securing  mutual  respect  and 
all  valuable  interests,  I  entertain  the  most  sanguine 
hopes  that  the  two  nations  will,  for  their  own  sakes, 
as  well  as  for  the  repose  and  happiness  of  the  civil- 
ized world,  not  only  remain  at  peace,  but  cordially 
united  in  all  measures  for  guarding  the  liberties 
and  promoting  the  prosperity  of  the  whole  l^uman 
race.  And  I  believe,  madam,  that  you  entertain 


360  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

these   sentiments  in  common  with  myself  and  a 
great  majority  of  my  countrymen." 

"  Indeed  I  do,  Mr.  Carrington.  God  grant  that  we 
may  never  see  another  war  between  the  two  coun- 
tries. You  must  pardon  me,  sir,  for  a  few  minutes 
absence,"  said  the  lady,  taking  up  a  waiter  with  a 
cup  of  tea  and  a  buttered  roll;  "there  is  a  poor 
young  man  in  the  jooin  next  to  yours,  who  asked 
to  see  me  this  evening.  I  am  going  to  see  him, 
and  will  make  the  servant  carry  these  ;  perhaps  he 
will  eat  something,  though  he  refused  -to  come 
down  to  tea." 

In  a  short  time  Mrs.  Blanchard  returned,  and 
said,  "  This  young  gentleman  is  a  countryman  of 
yours,  just  landed  from  the  American  ship  that 
came  up  a  few  days  ago." 

"Indeed!  from  what  port,*fnadam  1" 

"  Norfolk,  I  think,  sir,  in  Virginia ;  and  when  I 
told  him  there  was  a  Virginia  gentleman  in  the 
house,  he  showed  considerable  emotion,  and  re- 
quested me  very  earnestly  to  procure  him  an  inter- 
view with  you.  May  I  be  permitted  to  show  you 
to  his  room  V' 

"  I  will  not  put  you  to  that  trouble,  madam ;  I 
can  find  the  way.  The  room,  next  to  mine  V 

"  Yes,  sir,  on  the  same  side  of  the  passage,  the 
next  door  beyond  yours." 

Carrington  ascended  the  sfliirs,  and  tapped  at  the 
door. 

"  Walk  in,"  said  the  young  man,  who  arose  and 
offered  a  chair.  He  looked  pale  and  care-worn, 
and  was  evidently  quite  unwell.  "Pardon  the  lib- 
erty I  have  taken,  sir,"  he  continued,  "  in  request- 
ing this  interview  with  a  gentleman  with  whom  I 
have  not  the  honour  to  be  acquainted,  but  who,  1 
understand,  is  a  Virginian." 

"I  am  a  Virginian,  and  should  be  happy,"  said 
Carrir^gton,  "  to  render  a  fellow-countryman  any 
service  in  my  power." 

"My  health  is  not  good,  sir,  and  my  mind  still 


THE    RESCUE.  361 

less  at  case  than  my  body.  I  have  just  arrived," 
said  the  young  man,  "from  Norfolk,  and  if  life 
lasts,  am  extremely  anxious  to  return  instantly,  in 
order  to  prevent,  if  possible,  the  ignominious  death 
of  a  most  worthy  man,  and  the  commission  of  a 
most  heinous  crime."  Carrington  began  to  think 
the  man  deranged  or  flighty  from  fever.  The 
young  man  continued: 

"I  cannot  hope,  sir,  for  your  good  opinion,  after 
the  recital  of  the  circumstances  which  I  am  about 
to  detail ;  but  my  conscience,  and  horror  at  the 
idea  of  an  innocent  man  suffering  for  my  folly  and 
the  wicked  use  made  of  it  by  others,  constrain  me. 
Hear  me,  sir,  iF  you  please.  I  fled  from  America 
under  the  impression  that  I  had  killed  a  man  whom 
I  only  intended  to  chastise  for  imputing  to  me  the 
crime  of  passing  counterfeit  money,  knowing  it  to 
be  such.  The  person  who  urged  me  to  this  course 
was  present,  and"  when  I  struck  the  unfortunate  per- 
son with  my  cane, , he  ran  up,  declared  I  had  killed 
him,  and  entreated  me  to  fly.  I  refused  at  first,  but 
ascertaining,  as  well  as  I  could  in  the  dark,  that  the 
man  was  really  dead,  I  did  fly,  horror-stricken,  al- 
though I  was  much  intoxicated  with  drink.  I  con- 
tinued my  flight  to  the  seaboard,  and  embarked  at 
Norfolk  for  this  place,  putting  the  sea  between  me 
and  the  officers  of  the  law,  who,  I  expected,  would 
pursue  me  j  but  a  newspaper  which  I  carried  on 
board  with  me,  and  which  I  now  have,  contains  a 
paragraph  that  convinces  me,  thank  God!  that  it 
was  not  the  blow  of  my  cane  that  caused  the  death 
of  the  man,  but  the  stabs  of  the  assassin  who  had 
urgftd  me  on.  I  struck  the  man  but  one  blow,  and 
had  neither  dirk  nor  knife  about  me.  But  this  is 
not  all.  A  gentleman,  who  is  as  innocent  of  the 
murder  as  you  are,  is,  it  seems,  ior  some  rur^cses 
unknown  to  me,  to  be  made  the  victim  .u  tnis  nor- 
rid  tragedy,  and  has  been  arrested  and  put  in  jail 
for  the  murder.  Here  is  the  paragraph  to  which  I 
have  alluded ;  would  to  God  I  had  seen  it  before  I 


362  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

sailed  for  this  place  !  I  did  not  look  at  the  news- 
papers which  I  carried  on  board  till  eight  or  ten 
days  after  the  vessel  had  left  the  port.  Rend  it, 
sir,  and  judge  how  anxious  I  must  be  to  get  back, 
and  prevent,  by  my  evidence,  the  horrid  mischief." 

Carrington  took  the  newspaper.  The  account 
ran  thus : 

"  SHOCKING  MURDER. — A  poor  but  honest  travel- 
ling merchant  or  pedler,  well  known  in  the  west- 
ern part  of  this  state,  was  found,  on  the  —  day  of 
July,  on  the  Kanawha  River,  murdered.  The  cor- 
oner's inquest  states  that  his  death  was  caused  by 
two  deep  wounds  made  by  a  dirk,  or  other  sharp 
instrument,  in  the  left  side.  There  was  also  a  slight 
contusion  on  the  side  of  his  face,  which  might  have 
knocked  him  down,  but  did  not  seriously  injure 
him  or  cause  his  death.  And  we  are  truly  sorry 
to  add,  that  circumstances,  which  we  hope  will  be 
satisfactorily  explained,  as  we  believe  they  cer- 
tainly will,  have  led  to  the  arrest  of  our  former  es- 
timable citizen,  Edward  Ballenger,  Esq.,  near  whose 
house  the  body  of  the  murdered  man  was  found. 
While  we  are  aware  that  nothing  from  the  press 
should  in  the  slightest  degree  interfere  with  the 
administration  of  justice,  yet  we  must  be  permit- 
ted, for  ourselves  and  this  community,  to  declare 
that  nothing  but  the  most  positive  evidence,  clear 
as  the  light  of  day,  could  make  us  entertain  even 
a  doubt  of  the  innocence  of  a  gentleman  whose 
whole  life  has  been  without  reproach,  and  above 
suspicion,  not  only  of  crime,  but  even  of  the  slight- 
est departure  from  the  strictest  code  of  honour  and 
morality." — Alexandria  Gazette. 

The  young  man  observed  that  Victor  Carrington 
became  very  pale  as  he  read,  that  his  hand  trem- 
bled, and  the  muscles  of  his  face  quivered  and 
twitched  ;  dropping  the  paper,  he  exclaimed, 

"  Mr.  Ballenger  arrested  for  murder — good  God  ! 
If  human  exertion  can  save  him,  he  shall  be  saved  ;" 
and  he  rushed  from  the  room. 


THE    RESCUE.  363 

In  about  an  hour  he  returned,  more  composed. 
"  Will  you  be  ready,  sir,"  said  he  to  the  young 
man,  "  to  sail  with  me  for  Baltimore  at  seven 
o'clock  r 

"  The  earlier  the  better,"  replied  he.  "  The  tri- 
al, if  it  cornes  on  at  the  next  term,  will  be  in  forty 
days.  My  principal  object  in  seeking  an  interview 
with  you  was  to  interest  you  in  obtaining  for  me 
the  earliest  possible  passage  home,  that  1  may,  at 
all  hazards  to  myself,  save  Mr.  Ballenger's  life  j  for, 
however  wild  and  wicked  I  may  have  been,  I  shud- 
der at  the  idea  of  rny  being  the  cause  of  bringing 
an  innocent  man  to  the  gallows,  and  his  family  to 
shame  and  disgrace.  The  very  idea,  sir,  has  made 
me  ill." 

Carrington  pressed  his  hands  to  his  temples, 
covering  his  face  with  his  handkerchief. 

"Mr.  Ballenger  must  be  your  friend  or  relative 
sir  1"  said  the  young  man. 

"He  is — yes,  he  is  a  very  dear  friend,  for  whom 
I  would  make  any  sacrifice,  risk  everything.  Most 
fortunate  is  it,  if  not  too  late,  that  I  have  met  with 
you.  A  few  hours  later,  and  I  should  have  sailed 
for  America,  without  knowing  that  I  had  left  be- 
hind me  the  only  means,  perhaps,  of  saving  my 
friend  from  infamy  and  death." 

Carrington  requested  Samuel  Carter,  for  he  it 
was,  to  detail  to  him  all  the  circumstances  con- 
nected with  his  attack  on  the  pedler,  the  habits  of 
Isaac  Forster,  and  his  movements  and  pursuits. 
His  recital  in  no  degree  diminished  the  apprehen- 
sions of  Mr.  Carrington.  We  must  now  leave  them 
to  wend  their  way  across  the  Atlantic,  and  return 
to  our  native  shore  before  them,  leaving  to  our 
readers'  imagination  the  restless,  anxious  thoughts, 
harassing  fears,  and  excited  feelings  of  Carrington 
and  Carter  during  their  voyage.  Although  it  was 
a  quick  and  prosperous  passage,  to  them  it  seemed 
intolerably  long;  and  even  had  they  been  tossed 
by  storms  and  tempests,  by  the  winds  and  the 


364  KEW  HOPK;  OR, 

waves,  these  would  have  been  nothing  when  com- 
pared to  the  agitations  of  the  mind  which  they  en- 
dured. 

Fortunate,  most  fortunate,  indeed,  was  it  for  Vic- 
tor Carrington,  that  the  report  of  Miss  Ballenger's 
death,  and  the  doubtful  mode  of  its  occurrence,  had 
not  reached  Samuel  Carter  before  he  sailed  for  Liv- 
erpool. He  was  spared  the  soul-stunning  misery 
with  which  the  death  of  her  whom  he  so  tenderly 
loved  would  have  overwhelmed  him.  But  now  he, 
too,  well  understood  what  he  had  been  at  a  loss  to 
conjecture  the  cause  of  before — his  reception  of 
no-  letters  from  William  Henry  or  Matilda  for  the 
last  two  months. 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII. 

AFTER  Miss  Ballenger's  deliverance  from  the  cave, 
we  need  not  say  how  much  it  cost  her  to  restrain  her 
impatience  to  fly  to  the  arms  of  her  imprisoned,  unfor- 
tunate father.  Yet  she  did  restrain  it.  The  kind, 
considerate,  and  prudent  magistrate,  at  whose  house 
she  was,  offered  to  her  reason  sufficient  motives  to  re- 
strain the  impulses  of  her  heart.  He  convinced  her 
that  it  was  all-important,  not  only  to  the  arrest  of  the 
counterfeiters  and  of  Isaac  Forster,  but  to  the  honour- 
able acquittal  of  her  father,  that  the  discovery  of  the 
cave,  and  her  rescue,  should  be  kept  secret  till  the  tri- 
al came  on,  and  all  the  evidence  against  him  had  been 
given,  and  Isaac  Forster  should  be  in  the  court-room 
when  she  made  her  unexpected  arid  sudden  appear- 
ance before  the  judge  and  jury.  She  therefore  re- 
mained at  Squire  Templeman's  till  Saturday  morning, 
when,  under  the  protection  of  the  squire,  and  accompa- 
nied by  his  daughter  Helea,  she  commenced  her  jour- 
ney to  the  neighbourhood  of  Greenbrier  Courthouse. 


THE    RESCUE.  365 

The  old  soldier  did  not  intend  that  she  should  enter 
the  village  or  be  seen  till  the  proper  moment  arrived, 
and  he  had  made  arrangements  to  that  effect.  The 
sheriff  had  been  at  his  house  on  Friday  night. 

Joe  Swinton  and  Polly  M'Cloud,  masked  and  guard- 
ed, had  been  sent  in  the  night  to  the  neighbourhood  of 
Lewisburg.  Ben  Bramble  would  have  accompanied 
them,  but  he  and  Nat  Colly,  with  some  ten  stout 
mountaineers,  were  ordered  by  the  sheriff  to  relieve 
the  party  at  the  cave,  and  then  Ben  and  Nat  were  to 
follow  the  squire  and  Miss  Ballenger  in  the  evening. 
Before  his  departure  for  the  cave,  Ben  went  into  the 
room  where  Matilda  and  Helen  were  sitting,  and  step- 
ping up  to  Matilda,  and  taking  her  hand,  he  said, 

"  Keep  a  good  stout  heart,  Miss  Mattie.  The  dev- 
il's sure  to  git  his  own  in  the  long  run,  'specially  them 
as  courts  gals  agin  ther  will,  onder  ground,  or  onder 
any  kiver  that  ain't  the  honest,  fair  thing.  I'll  see  you 
agin  Monday  in  Levvisbiirg,  if  so  be  I  live."  Then 
turning  to  Helen,  he  said,  "  I  know  ymi'H  take  care  of 
her,  honey  ;  she's  mighly  like  her  brother,  ain't  she  ?" 
Helen  blushed  to  the  tips  of  her  fingers.  "  Well,  well, 
don't  mind  me,  Miss  Helen,  but  keep  Miss  Mattie  mo- 
vin'.  It's  the  best  truck  for  low  sperrits  that  ever  I 
tried — better  nor  any  doctor's  means  ;  I've  tried  it  oft- 
en, and  I  can  sweat  out  more  meloncholy  walkin'  arter 
the  varmints  in  these  hills  than  ary  steam  doctor  in  Old 
Vigirmy." 

"  Good-by,  dear  Ben,"  said  Matilda  ;  "  keep  yourself 
out  of  danger  for  my  sake,  who  owe  you  so  much,  if 
not  for  your  own." 

"  Danger  ?"  said  Ben  ;  "  God's  everywhar.  Them 
as  sarves  him  is  never  in  danger.  You  warn't  in  no 
danger  in  that  ar  cave,  though  you  motight  think  so, 
and  your  daddy's  ii\  no  danger  in  Greenbrier  jail.  He 
that  made  this  hound  puppy,"  said  he,  pointing  to  Kate, 
with  her  head  in  Matilda's  lap,  "  deliver  you,  can  bring 
him  out  as  clar  as  a  whistle.  Kate's  yourn,  honey ; 
1  give  her  to  you  to  remember  me  by ;  she  valors  you 
all  but  as  much  as  I  do.  Good-by  t'ye,  my  darters." 


HOPE;  OR, 

So  saying,  Ben  walked  away,  followed  by  his  two 
dogs,  Captain  and  Rover.     Kate  had  scarcely  left  Ma 
tilda's  side  since  her  rescue,  and  when  the  young  ladies 
retired  to  their  chamber  at  night,  she  insisted  on  stay 
ing  in  the  room,  and  Helen  actually  had  a  pallet  pre 
pared  for  her  near  the  bed  in  which  she  and  Matilda 
slept.     We  must  now  leave  them  and  the  squire  set- 
ting off  to  Greenbrier,  and  follow  the  relief  party  to  the 
cave. 

"  I'll  tell  you  what  it  is,"  said  Nat  Colly  to  Ben,  "  it's 
my  notion  that  if  these  counterfeitin',  sneakin'  rascals 
don't  come  to  this  den  of  them  to-day  or  to-night,  they'll 
never  come  arterward.  Mr.  Ballenger's  trial's  on  Mon- 
day, and  the  evidence  of  Miss  Balienger  and  the  rest 
that  wer  found  thar  will  be  known  everywhar.  Some 
on  'em  will  hear  on  it,  and  will  know  that  ther  lurk- 
in'  place  has  bin  diskivered,  and  they'll  make  tracks 
like  a  wolf  with  the  dogs  arter  him." 

"  That's  likely,"  replied  Ben  ;  "  yet  I  feel  as  if  we 
was  to  have  a  scrimmage  with  'em  ;  my  mind  misgives 
me,  some  how,  and  although  the  law  allows  us  to  take 
'em  any  how,  yet  we  must  manage  to  trap  'em  without 
blood,  Nat.  I  don't  want  the  blood  of  a  feller-cretur 
on  mv  hands,  though  he  be  first  cousin  to  the  devil 
himself." 

"  Well,  nor  I  nuther,"  said  Nat ;  "  but  darn  me  if 
they  shall  git  away,  if  ever  we  lay  eyes  on  'em." 

"I'll  tell  you  how  we  can  manage  it,"  said  Ben. 
"  Let  Charley,  if  he  will  stay,  watch  outside  with  five 
men,  and  you  and  I,  and  four  of  the  other  boys, .will  go 
in  the  cave.  One  on  us  will  take  Joe  Swinton's  place 
inside  the  door  by  the  lamp  to  give  ther  watchword  — 
Wliafs  the  time  61  day  <" — and  the  others  go  furder  in, 
out  on  sight ;  so  that,  if  so  be  they  should  come  in, 
we'll  have  'em  between  Two  forces ;  and  when  we  let 
em  know  that  they  ar  in  that  fix,  and  no  mistake,  they'll 
give  up  without  a  scuffle." 

"  Maybe  so,"  replied  Nat ;  "  but  they  are  desperate 
villains,  I  guess,  and  I  don't  like  the  notion  of  settin' 
down  in  a  cave  by  a  lamp ;  it's  too  much  like  watch- 
in'  by  a  corpse — monstrous  solumn,  I  tell  ye,  Ben." 


THE    RESCUE.  367 

"  Well,"  said  Ben,  "  I'll  take  that  upon  me,  and  you 
and  the  boys  can  go  furder  in  with  the  punk  and  the 
sulphur  matches,  and  the  lights  that  the  squire  gin  us. 
The  rninit  t  kick  over  the  lamp  onintentional  by  de- 
sign, the  boys  outside  will  rush  up,  and  you  can  then 
let  'em  know  that  they  are  surrounded." 

This  plan  of  operation  was  agreed  to  by  the  whole 
party  when  they  got  to  the  cave,  and  Charley  Vandal 
consented  to  stay,  and  go  with  Ben  in  the  evening. 
Charley  and  five  others,  after  the  rest  had  gone  in,  ar- 
ranged everything  at  the  mouth  to  look  as  it  did  when 
the  cave  was  discovered,  and  then  concealed  them- 
selves in  the  ivy-bushes.  Thus  they  remained  about 
two  hours,  when  the  quick  ear  of  one  of  the  men  heard 
a  splashing  in  the  water,  and  soon  after  the  low  mur- 
mur of  voices  coming  down  the  little  stream.  Then 
all  was  still  again  for  a  few  moments,  and  four  men 
were  seen  slowly  and  stealthily  following  each  other 
in  Indian  file  up  the  path  leading  to  the  mouth  of  the 
cave.  When  the  foremost  was  within  twenty  yards 
of  the  mouth,  he  stopped  till  the  others  came  up,  and 
turning  to  one  of  them,  said, 

"  It's  no  use  trying  to  persuade  me,  Obed.  I'll  see 
Forster  in  h — 11  before  he  shall  use  us  so.  None  of 
the  risk,  and  half  the  profits.  Of  the  plunder  we've 
got  now,  and  that  we  shall  get  for  the  last  drove  sent 
to  Virginia  to  sell,  he  shall  have  his  share,  and  no 
more ;  and  if  that  is  measured,  Obed  Stapler,  by  the 
service  he  does  us,  it's  d — d  small.  He  must  bring 
a  wench,  too  ;  old  Poll's  niece,  he  tells  you.  It's  all 
a  lie.  She's  a  gentlewoman,  I  know,  and  he'll  bring 
danger  on  us,  mind  what  I  tell  you." 

"  But  he  signs  all  the  notes,  and  thar's  nobody  else 
can  do  it,"  replied  Obed. 

"  What  of  that  ?"  said  the  other  man.  "  He's  plan- 
ning for  himself.  1  see  that ;  and  if  he  could  make 
anything  by  it,  he  would  hang  every  one  of  us." 

"  Ah!  but,"  said  one  of  the  others,  who  had  not  spo- 
ken before,  "  he's  as  deep  in  the  mud  as  we  are  in  the 
mire,  and  he  can't  sink  us  without  drowning  himself" 


368  NEW  HOPE  ;  OR, 

"  The  devil  he  can't !"  replied  the  first  speaker. 
"  My  name's  not  Uriah  Blixon,  if  he  ain't  the  wiliest 
old  fox  this  side  the  Alleghany.  But  I'll  watch  him 
pretty  close,  and  if  he  don't  walk  as  straight  as  a  shin- 
gle, I'll  put  a  ball  through  him  some  of  these  days, 
d — n  me  if  I  don't.  But  what's  the  use  of  jawing  ? 
Let's  go  in  and  tell  Joe  how  handily  we  got  off  his 
shiners,  a^d  what  a  fine  lot  of  horses  we've  sent  into 
the  old  settlements  for  sale." 

Saying  this,  he  stepped  up  to  the  mouth  of  the  cave, 
and,  as  he  began  to  remove  the  brush,  received  the 
well-known  challenge,  "  What's  the  time  of  day  ?" 
"  Four  o'clock,1"  he  replied. 

As  soon  as  Ben  Bramble  saw  that  they  were  fairly 
in  the  cave,  he  arose  to  stumble  over  the  lamp,  as  had 
been  agreed  on.  The  foremost  of  the  counterfeiters, 
Uriah  Blixon,  catching  a  glimpse  of  his  face  as  he 
turned,  drew  a  pistol  from  his  bosom,  and  levelling  it 
at  Ben  Bramble,  fired  instantly,  exclaiming, 

"  Hell  and  damnation  !  we  are  betrayed — this  is  not 
Joe  Swinton." 

Ben  Bramble  reeled  and  fell,  extinguishing  the  lamp 
with  the  blood  that  gushed  from  his  side,  and  expired 
without  uttering  a  groan.  In  a  moment  Charley  Van- 
dal and  the  men  with  him  were  at  the  mouth  of  the 
cave.  He  cried  out, 

"  Surrender,  or  we  will  shoot  down  every  man  of 
you." 

But  the  counterfeiters  dashed  on  farther  into  the 

pitchy  darkness  of  the  cavern,  the  foremost  calling  out, 

"  Come  on,  boys  ;  we  can  find  our  arms  in  the  dark, 

and  then  we'll  give  it  to  the  d — d  deceiving  dogs  at 

the  mouth.     Jessey,  I've  fixed  one  of 'em." 

"  Will  you  1"  shouted  Nat  Colly  from  the  dark  re- 
cesses of  the  cave.  "  Come  on,  then,  like  men." 

A  blaze  of  light  rose  up  before  the  advancing  coun- 
terfeiters, and  revealed,  not  thirty  yards  from  them,  a 
body  of  men,  with  rifles  at  their  shoulders,  marching 
towards  them. 

"  We  are  trapped,  by  G — d !"  said  Uriah  Blixon, 


THE   RESCUE.  369 

recoiling,  and  rapidly  retreating  towards  the  mouth  of 
the  cave  till  they  reached  the  body  of  Ben  Bramble. 

The  party  in  the  cave  followed  close  after  them. 
As  soon  as  Nat  Colly  saw  the  body  of  his  fallen  friend, 
and  a  man,  with  a  pistol  in  his  hand,  looking  back 
with  a  fiend-like  scowl  at  him,  he  raised  his  gun  and 
shot  him  through  the  head.  Uriah  Blixon,  half  utter- 
ing a  blasphemous  yell,  leaped  high  in  the  air,  and  fell 
beside  the  body  of  him  he  had  slain.  Twice  the  ruf- 
fian attempted  to  rise,  but  he  fell  back,  wallowing  in 
blood.  The  gurgling  in  his  throat  suddenly  ceased 
and  he  was  dead. 

"  Shall  we  fire  ?"  cried  Charley  Vandal. 

"  Unless  they  surrender  in  one  minute,"  replied  Billy 
HufF,  who  was  with  Nat  Colly's  party. 

"  We  give  up,"  said  one  of  the  counterfeiters  ;  "  we 
have  no  arms." 

"  March  out,  then,"  said  Charley. 

"  Won't  you  shoot  us  ?"  inquired  the  man. 

"  No,"  answered  Charley,  "  if  you  make  no  resist- 
ance ;  but  I'll  put  a  bullet  through  the  first  man  that 
raises  his  hand.  Follow  'em,  boys,  out  of  the  cave, 
and  keep  your  rifles  cocked." 

The  three  remaining  counterfeiters  marched  out, 
dosely  followed  by  all  in  the  cave  but  Nat  Colly. 
They  were  tied,  searched,  and  carried  back  into  the 
cave.  The  large  torches  which  had  been  lighted  by 
the  party  who  secreted  themselves  in  the  inner  part 
of  the  cave  had  been  set  up  against  the  walls,  and  the 
long  table  at  which  the  revels  of  the  vile  crew  who 
inhabited  the  cave  were  held  caught  fire,  and  wreaths 
of  flickering  flame  were  curling  along  the  vaulted  roof 
and  up  the  side  walls  of  the  cavern.  The  dark-red 
glare,  accompanied  by  the  fitful,  hollow  sound  of  the 
flames  confined  in  the  bowels  of  the  earth,  created  an 
awful,  solemn,  and  fearfully  sublime  spectacle.  There 
lay,  in  that  red  and  lurid  light,  the  body  of  Uriah  Blix- 
on, his  glazed  eyeballs  reflecting  it,  and  his  ghastly 
countenance  still  bearing  the  malignant  scowl  of  hatred 
and  revenge.  And  there  sat  Nat  Colly,  supporting  on 
16 


370  KKTV  HOPE;  OR, 

his  lap  the  head  of  his  lifeless  friend.  How  different, 
•even  in  death,  the  expression  of  that  mild,  manly  face  ! 
It  was  pale  and  placid  as  the  face  of  a  sleeping  infant. 
Charley  Vandal  stooped  over  him,  and  said, 

"  Nat  Colly,  is  there  any  hope  ?" 

"  No,  Charley,  he  is  gone — gone  forever.  It's  all 
over  with  him.  The  life's  clean  out.  Oh !  Charley, 
I  loved  him  like  a  brother.  Thar  warn't  a  braver  nor 
a  better  man,  nor  a  kinder,  truer  heart  in  a  human 
body,  than  hisn.  I  couldn't  see  him  lyin'  here  in  his 
blood,  and  that  villain  thar,  that  murdered  him,  standin' 
over  him  with  the  pistol  in  his  hand,  without  shootin' 
him  down,  as  he  desarved ;  I  couldn't  stand  it,  and  I 
didn't." 

Too  true  it  was,  there  was  no  hope.  The  noble 
spirit  that  once  animated  the  body  of  Ben  Bramble  had 
fled  forever — to  the  heaven  of  heavens,  we  verily  be- 
lieve— for  his  humanity,  and  the  desire  to  spare  the 
effusion  of  the  blood  even  of  the  wicked,  had  cost  him 
his  life.  Slowly  and  sadly  they  bore  his  body  from 
that  fatal  cave,  and  when  the  light  of  heaven  fell  on 
the  faces  of  his  companions,  it  showed  the  traces  of 
many  a  tear  that  had  wetted  their  cheeks  for  the  un- 
timely fate  of  their  friend,  in  that  dreary  abode. 

Though  there  is  but  little  outward  semblance  of 
tenderness  and  sympathy  about  rough  woodsmen  and 
hunters,  they  have  hearts  that  feel  as  deeply  and  as 
poignantly  both  joy  and  sorrow  as  do  those  of  the  most 
refined  and  cultivated.  Their  perilous  pursuits  and 
common  dangers — their  urgent  need  of  each  other's 
assistance  in  times  of  trial — their  rude  but  hearty  en- 
joyments in  camp  after  the  dangers,  toils,  and  labours 
of  the  day — all  beget  a  kindliness  of  feeling  that  rarely 
exists  in  the  same  vigorous  and  lasting  degree  among 
the  dwellers  in  towns  and  cities.  According  to  our 
philosophy,  there  is  no  friendship  stronger  or  more 
durable  than  that  which  is  generated  and  grows  up  in 
the  wild  woods,  among  men  in  pursuit  of  the  bear  and 
the  panther,  the  trout  and  the  pike. 

Deeply  did  Charley  Vandal  and  Nat  Colly  feel  the 


THE    RESCUE.  371 

death  of  their  fallen  comrade,  and  gentler  hearts  and 
more  refined  natures,  too,  wept  most  bitterly  the  un- 
timely and  violent  death  of  Ben  Bramble. 


CHAPTER  XXXIX. 

RETURN  with  us  now,  gentle  reader,  to  the  court- 
house in  Lewisburg.  The  excitement  produced  by 
the  appearance  of  Matilda  Ballenger,  thought  to  be 
among  the  dead,  was  so  great  that  the  business  of  the 
court  was  temporarily  interrupted.  When  her  bonnet 
and  veil  fell  off,  as  she  threw  herself  on  the  neck  of 
her  father,  Isaac  Forster  was  still  sitting  on  the 
window-sill.  The  instant  he  saw  her  face  he  at- 
tempted to  throw  himself  out  of  the  open  window,  but 
he  was  seized  and  pinned  down  to  his  place  by  the 
young  men  sitting  beside  him.  What  pencil  can 
paint,  what  pen  describe,  the  ghastly,  guilty,  horror- 
stricken  countenance  of  this  man  !  He  was  seen  to 
be  agitated  as  Templeman,  and  those  with  him,  entered 
the  door,  and  straining  his  eyes  to  get  a  sight  of  the 
faces  of  the  females.  The  men  heid  him  firmly  by 
his  arms,  and  one  of  them  said  to  him  in  an  under 
tone,  "  The  warrant  to  take  you,  sir,  is  in  my  pocket." 
It  now  for  the  first  time  flashed  across  his  mind  that 
he  had  been  watched  and  guarded  by  these  two  men 
for  several  days  ;  that,  in  fact,  he  had  been  a  prisoner, 
though  at  large,  and  apparently  free.  The  horrible 
truth,  in  all  its  appalling  magnitude,  now  burst  upon 
his  soul — that  his  guilt,  in  its  great  enormity,  had  been 
discovered,  was  known,  and  that  the  toils  of  the  law, 
unseen  and  unsuspected,  had  encircled  and  were  ready 
to  crush  him,  like  the  coils  of  the  boa-constrictor 
around  the  body  of  a  traveller  fallen  asleep  in  the 
woods. 

It  was  impossible  to  look  upon  the  guilty  wretch 


372  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

without  shuddering.  His  trembling  shook  the  very 
seat  on  which  he  was  held  down.  His  whole  face 
was  ashy  pale,  his  lips  of  a  leaden  hue ;  his  under 
jaw  had  fallen,  leaving  his  mouth  open  ;  his  forehead 
was  contracted  into  knotted  cords,  and  his  bloodshot, 
quivering  eyes,  seemed  as  if  they  would  start  from 
their  sockets  as  he  kept  them  fixed  on  Mr.  Ballenger 
and  his  daughter.  At  last  Matilda  raised  her  head 
from  her  father's  bosom,  and,  with  the  big  drops  still 
falling  on  her  cheeks,  seemingly  unconscious  of  all 
but  his  presence,  she  said, 

"  Oh,  my  dear  and  only  parent,  could  you,  did  you, 
ever  harbour  the  thought  that  I  had  deserted  you  in 
your  sore  distress  ;  that,  forgetting  all  that  I  owed  you 
of  duty — all  that  I  felt  for  you  of  that  love  which  my 
tongue  knows  not  how  to  utter — all  that  I  owe  to  our 
heavenly  Father — that  I  could  have  lost  my  faith  and 
trust  in  him,  and  had  rushed  unbidden  into  his  holy 
presence  ?  Oh,  my  father,  could  you  for  one  moment 
think  that  your  daughter  had  been  guilty  of  self- 
destruction — had  thrown  herself  into  the  river  ?" 

"  Never,  my  dear  child — never.  I  knew — I  felt 
that  it  could  not  be  so.  I  believed  that  you  had  acci- 
dentally fallen  into  the  river.  In  all  my  afflictions, 
I  have  never  suffered  the  pang  that  such  a  thought 
would  have  cost  me.  And  I  have  been  supported  by 
that  arm  which  has  been  outstretched  for  your  deliver- 
ance and  mine,  confident  if,  in  the  mysterious  but  all- 
wise  and  merciful  providence  of  God,  I  was  to  suffer 
the  penalty  of  the  law — an  ignominious  death — for  a 
crime  which  my  soul  abhors,  and  of  which  I  would 
not  have  been  guilty  for  all  that  this  earth  can  offer, 
that  we  should  only  the  sooner  meet  in  our  heavenly 
Father's  kingdom,  and  there  find  your  sainted  mother, 
who  has  gone  before  us  to  that  blessed  abode." 

Matilda  turned  her  face  towards  the  window  as  if  to 
get  a  breath  of  air,  and  as  her  eyes  fell  on  Isaac  For- 
ster,  she  shrunk  back,  and  exclaimed, 

"  Oh,  take  him  away !  There  is  the  man  that 
dragged  me  off." 


THE    RESCUE.  373 

"  Yes,"  said  Templeman,  losing  his  patience,  and 
forgetting  that  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  court  of 
justice,  pointing  with  his  finger  at  Forster,  who  shrunk 
oack  as  if  it  had  been  a  dagger,  "  there  is  tke  man — 
no,  not  man — a  monster  in  human  form — a  counter- 
feiter— a  robber — a  murderer — who  stole  and  impris- 
oned the  daughter,  and  would  have  hung  her  father — 
yes,  the  father  of  her  whom  he  professed  to  love,  and 
attempted  to  force,  through  her  fears  for  her  father's 
life,  to  marry  him." 

"  Haul  him  out !  tear  him  in  pieces  !"  was  heard  at 
the  door,  and  even  in  the  hall. 

"Sheriff',"  said  the  judge,  "look  to  the  safety  of 
Isaac  Forster ;  he  is  in  the  hands  of  the  law.  Let 
not  a  hair  of  his  head  be  touched.  Captain  Temple- 
man, go  to  the  door  and  speak  to  the  people." 

The  judge  knew  that  Templeman  was  well  known 
to  the  people  —  loved  and  respected  by  them  —  had 
served  them  in  the  Congress  of  the  United  States,  and 
in  the  army  ;  that  no  man  in  Western  Virginia  had 
more,  or  deserved  to  have  more  influence  with  them — 
had  settled  on  his  own  military  lands  among  them, 
and  now,  in  a  green  old  age,  had  retired  from  public 
life,  and  only  exercised  the  functions  of  a  squire  or 
justice  of  the  peace  in  the  county  in  which  he  lived. 

Templeman  made  his  way  to  the  door,  and  seeing 
many  who  had  served  with  him  in  the  Revolutionary 
war,  called  them  by  name  to  approach  :  when  they  got 
near,  he  said, 

"  My  old  soldier  comrades,  and  you,  too,  my  young 
friends,  their  sons  and  grandsons,  hear  me.  Many  of 
you  now  wilhin  the  sound  of  my  voice,  and  your  fa- 
thers, young  men,  fought  and  shed  their  blood  in  the 
war  of  the  Revolution.  What  was  it  for  which  they 
fought  ?  Justice  and  right.  Heaven  crowned  our  ef- 
forts with  success,  because  our  cause  was  righteous. 
One  of  the  wrongs  of  which  we  complained — the  most 
dangerous,  despotic,  and  unjustifiable — was  the  viola- 
tion of  personal  liberty  without  the  sanction  of  law, 
and  the  seizure  and  punishment  of  men  for  imputed 


374  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

crimes,  without  proof  of  guilt  before  a  jury  of  equals 
sworn  to  do  justice.  So  important  did  all  freemen 
deem  this  mode  of  ascertaining  guilt  or  innocence  to 
their  personal  rights  and  liberties,  that  it  was  incorpo- 
rated into  the  Declaration  of  Independence  itself,  which 
says,  in  stating  to  the  world  the  causes  of  our  com- 
plaints, '  For  depriving  us,  in  many  cases,  of  the  ben- 
efits of  trial  by  jury.'  Not  content,  even,  with  this  ex- 
plicit declaration,  the  just,  wise,  and  patriotic  men  who 
framed  our  Federal  Constitution,  have  made  it  a  part 
of  the  supreme  law  of  the  land  that  '  the  trial  of  all 
crimes,  except  in  cases  of  impeachment,  shall  be  by 
jury.'  And  yet,  again,  so  sacred  did  the  people  deem 
the  life  and  liberty  of  man,  that,  among  the  amend- 
ments proposed  to  the  States  for  adoption  by  the  Con- 
gress of  1789,  this  is  one  of  the  ten  that  were  added  to 
the  Constitution  by  the  States:  'In  all  criminal  pros- 
ecutions, the  accused  shall  enjoy  the  right  to  a  speedy 
and  public  trial  by  an  impartial  jury ;  be  informed  of 
the  nature  and  cause  of  the  accusation  ;  be  confronted 
with  the  witnesses  against  him  ;  have  compulsory  pro- 
cess for  obtaining  witnesses  in  his  favour,  and  have 
the  assistance  of  counsel  for  his  defence.' 

"  Now,  my  friends,  shall  we  not  only  disregard,  but 
violate  and  tear  down  these  strong  defences  of  justice 
and  personal  liberty  1  Shall  we  ourselves  become  the 
unjust  despots  whom  we  denounced  and  defeated? 
Shall  we,  by  our  lawless  conduct,  justify  them  by  do- 
ing as  they  did  ?  Shall  we  call  down  upon  ourselves 
the  wrath  of  Heaven,  by  contempt,  and  disobedience, 
and  violation  of  its  laws  of  eternal  justice,  and  our  own 
laws  made  in  conformity  with  them?  Shall  we  con 
domn  ourselves  by  our  own  voluntary  acts,  and  give 
the  lie  to  our  most  deliberate  and  solemn  declarations7 
No,  never — never  !  Our  laws  are  all-sufficient  for  the 
punishment  of  crime  if  we  will  faithfully  execute  them. 
Suppose,  my  friends,  that,  excited  by  the  cruel  death,  the 
assassination  of  that  worthy  but  unfortunate  man,  Job 
Terry,  and  yielding  to  suspicions  that  seemed  to  be 
justified  by  the  strongest  circumstantial  evidence,  we 


THE   RESCUE.  375 

had  disregarded  the  law,  and  taken  the  punishment  of 
Edward  Ballenger  into  our  own  hands  ;  suppose  we 
had  hauled  him  out,  torn  him  in  pieces,  or  hung  him 
on  the  nearest  tree :  is  there  a  man  that  hears  me  that 
does  not  shudder  at  the  thought  ?  And  how  has  the 
probability  of  his  innocence  already  been  made  to  ap- 
pear, although  his  trial  is  not  yet  over?  By  a  fair 
trial,  were  he  guilty,  would  not  that  guilt  be  proved  be- 
fore this  court  now  in  session  as  clearly  as  his  inno- 
cence, I  believe,  will  be  made  to  appear  ? 

"  So  let  it  be  with  every  man  ;  for,  of  all  dangerous, 
tyrannical,  and  unjustifiable  exercises  of  injustice  and 
oppression  ;  of  all  crimes  against  the  principles  of  per- 
sonal liberty  ;  of  all  causes  tending  to  the  destruction 
of  individual  rights,  and  the  peace,  security,  and  hap- 
piness of  society  ;  of  all  the  instruments  which  the 
wicked,  the  designing,  and  ambitious  can  wield  for  the 
overthrow  of  our  law-sustained  liberty,  and  for  the  es- 
tablishment of  the  most  horrid  form  of  licentious,  unre- 
strained, and  unrestrainable  despotism,  Lynch-law  is 
the  most  potent  and  unjustifiable.  It  is  a  condemna- 
tion of  our  laws,  an  injury  to  ourselves,  and  an  open 
insult  to  that  God  who  hath  said,  '  Vengeance,  is  mine.'1 
How  soon  may  suspicion  of  some  offensive  act  attach 
to  any  one  of  us,  through  malicious  slander  or  mere 
thoughtlessness  ?  Are  you  all  willing,  under  such  cir- 
cumstances, to  be  tried  by  Lynch-law  ?" 

"No,  no — not  I,"  was  heard  in  all  directions  from 
the  listening  crowd. 

"  Well,  my  friends,  it  is  a  bad  rule  that  won't  work 
both  ways.  Do,  then,  unto  others  as  ye  would  that  they, 
in  similar  circumstances,  should  do  unto  you.  Let 
the  law  deal  with  Isaac  Forster :  he  has  already  been 
arrested — is  in  the  hands  of  the  law  ;  and  so  let  it  be 
with  every  other  man  ;  and  it  is  better,  even,  that  nine- 
ty-nine guilty  men  should  escape  than  that  one  inno- 
eent  man  should  be  punished.  For  myself,  I  can  only 
say,  that  those  who  attempt  to  violate  the  personal 
rights  of  any  man  in  my  presence  by  Lynching  him, 
will  have  to  pass  over  my  body.  And  I  hope,  so  say 


3*76  NEW   HOPE  ;    OB, 

you  all,  my  friends,  since  you  have  had  time  to  reflect 
on  its  horrible  consequences." 

Thus  spoke  Squire  Templeman,  and  his  words  fell 
on  the  ears  of  the  stormy  multitude  like  oil  on  the 
troubled  waves  of  the  ocean.  When  he  ceased  speak- 
ing, all  were  still  for  a  moment.  The  voices  of  the 
people  were  hushed,  and  there  was  heard,  "  He  is 
right ;  we  were  wrong." 

Of  all  people,  we  of  the  United  States  ought  to  be 
the  most  law-abiding,  for  we  owe  the  most  to  the  laws  ; 
and  we  say,  "  Give  the  people  time  to  cool,  to  reflect, 
and  they  will  go  right.  They  are  capable  of  self-gov- 
ernment, individually  and  collectively.  To  assume  the 
contrary  supposition  is  an  insult  to  the  all-wise  God 
that  made  man."  The  people  were  satisfied  to  let  the 
law  take  its  course.  Order  was  restored,  and  the 
court  proceeded  with  the  trial  of  Edward  Ballenger. 

A  nolle  prosequi  was  entered  in  the  case  of  Polly 
M'Cloud.  She  was  sworn,  and  proceeded  to  give  her 
testimony.  In  doing  this,  it  was  found  utterly  impos- 
sible to  confine  her  to  material  or  legal  evidence.  The 
judge  and  the  lawyers  were  fairly  forced  to  let  Mrs. 
M'Cloud  tell  her  story  in  her  own  way.  She  repeat- 
ed everything  in  her  own  history  already  known  to  our 
readers,  except  the  mode  of  the  death  of  her  daughter's 
child,  her  own  seduction  by  Richard  Winter,  alias  Joe 
Swinton,  and  her  incarceration  in  the  cave,  instead  of 
being  made  the  happy  mistress  of  a  fine  house. 

The  material  part  of  her  testimony  was,  that  Miss 
Matilda  Ballenger  was  brought  into  the  cave  by  Isaac 
Forster  and  another  man  whom  she  did  not  know. 
That  Forster  made  her  go  out  of  the  room  occupied  by 
Matilda  and  herself  several  times,  and  that  she.  by  lay- 
ing her  head  against  the  rock,  could  hear  every  word 
that  was  said  by  them.  That  Forster  persuaded  Miss 
Ballenger  to  marry  him,  and  said  that,  by  doing  so,  she 
could  save  the  life  of  her  father ;  that  her  father  did 
not  kill  Job  Terry ;  that  he  knew  who  did,  and  could 
clear  him  if  she  would  marry  him  ;  that  if  she  did  not, 


THE    RESCUE.  377 

her  father  should  die,  and  then  "  she  should  be  hisn 
any  how,  and  should  live  and  die  in  the  cave." 

"Miss  Ballenger,"  said  Polly  M'Cloud,  "wouldn't 
hear  to  him.  I  wonder  the  poor  cretur  warn't  scared 
into  takin'  him  for  a  husband,  and  savin'  her  daddy's 
life ;  for  Mr.  Forster's  a  right  likely  man  to  look  upon 
and  mighty  rich,  they  say  ;  if  he  had  a  courted  me  as 
strong  as  he  did  her,  I  don't  know  what  I  should  have 
done  but  give  up.  Yit  I  don't  believe  in  him,  and  / 
has  my  reasons  for  it." 

Matilda  Ballenger  was  then  sworn,  and  the  judge 
said  to  her,  "  Be  composed,  Miss  Ballenger,  and  state 
to  the  jury  the  circumstances  of  your  abduction,  and 
whatever  else  may  be  connected  with  it." 

We  shall  not  attempt  to  follow  her  through  the  whole 
of  her  touching  and  pathetic  narrative,  but  will  give  its 
brief  outlines.  She  stated  that,  previous  to  her  father's 
arrest,  Mr.  Forster  had  made  advances  to  her  that 
could  not  be  misunderstood  ;  that  on  the  day  on  which 
Job  Terry,  the  pedler,  was  at  her  father's  house,  Mr. 
Forster  had  formally  proposed  to  her  ;  that  she  had 
promptly,  and  perhaps  indignantly,  rejected  his  propo- 
sals, and  requested  him  never  again  to  mention  the 
subject  to  her.  He  seemed  to  be  very  angry:  "  And 
as  I  left  the  room,"  said  she,  "  he  made  use  of  this  ex- 
pression, with  a  very  marked  emphasis :  '  You  will  re- 
pent this,  Miss  Ballenger.'  He  went  away  from  my 
father's  about  the  dusk  of  the  evening." 

When  her  father  was  arrested  the  next  day,  she  had 
remained  in  her  chamber  till  late  in  evening,  and  then 
sought  relief  to  her  agonized  feelings  and  fevered  frame 
by  walking  on  the  bank  of  the  river,  where  she  was  in 
the  habit  of  walking,  in  front  of  the  house.  She  had 
scarcely  reached  the  bank  when  she  was  seized,  and 
a  bandage  drawn  over  her  mouth  and  eyes.  In  vain 
she  struggled  and  attempted  to  scream.  She  was  hur- 
ried into  a  boat,  and  rowed  rapidly  from  the  shore. 
Then  the  sound  of  the  oars  ceased.  She  heard  whis- 
pering. The  boat  seemed  to  turn  round.  Her  bonnet 
and  one  of  her  shoes  were  taken  off'.  She  thought  she 
16* 


378  NEW    HOPE  ;    OR, 

felt  the  boat  strike  the  shore,  and  immediately  after- 
ward she  heard  the  words,  "  That  will  do ;  they'll 
know  she's  drowned,  or  think  so,  at  any  rate."  Again 
the  oars  were  rapidly  plied.  Some  person  held  her 
down  in  the  boat,  and  something,  which  felt  like  a 
blanket,  had  been  thrown  over  her  head  and  shoulders. 
In  a  short  time  the  boat  struck  the  shore  again,  and 
there  was  whispering.  She  heard  the  words,  "  Bring 
the  horses  close  to  the  boat."  She  was  taken  out  and 
placed  on  a  horse  on  a  woman's  saddle,  with  some 
person  behind  her,  who  held  her  on ;  the  horses — for 
she  could  hear  the  feet  of  two — were  put  in  rapid  mo- 
tion, which  continued  for  a  long  time — several  hours, 
she  supposed.  Exhausted,  and  in  a  state  almost  of 
stupor,  she  was  lifted  from  the  horse  and  placed  upon 
the  ground.  The  horror  of  her  situation  was  now 
made  known  to  her  by  hearing  the  voice  of  Isaac  For- 
ster  as  he  took  the  bandage  from  her  eyes  and  mouth. 

"  I  told  you,  miss,  that  you  would  repent  of  your  re- 
fusing me." 

"  I  screamed,"  said  Matilda,  "  and  he  said,  '  Scream 
away,  if  that  will  do  you  any  good  ;  none  but  bears 
and  wolves  can  hear  you  in  this  place.'  It  was  so 
dark  I  could  not  see  any  object.  Mr.  Forster  sat  down 
by  me,  while  the  other  man  kindled  a  fire.  I  then 
saw  that  I  was  under  the  shelf  of  a  large  impending 
rock.  That  I  survived  the  agonies  of  that  night  and 
the  succeeding  day,  during  which  they  remained  there 
till  after  dark,  I  can  attribute  to  the  sustaining  hand  of 
God  alone.  My  brother  far  away  from  home,  igno- 
rant of  the  calamities  that  had  fallen  on  us  ;  my  father 
in  prison,  accused  of  a  terrible  crime  ;  and  I — I  was 
in  the  hands  of  ruffians,  far  from  all  human  help.  Oh ! 
sir,  no  tongue  can  tell  what  I  suffered.  They  offered 
me  food  ;  but  the  very  attempt  to  swallow  a  mouthful, 
had  I  made  it,  would  have  choked  me.  Strange  as  it 
may  seem,  in  the  course  of  that  dreadful  day  I  slept — 
I  must  have  slept,  for  I  suddenly  felt  refreshed,  and 
drank  a  large  draught  of  water  that  was  offered  lo  me. 
As  soon  as  it  was  dark  I  was  again  placed  on  a  horse 


THE   RESCUE.  379 

as  before,  and  how  long  or  how  far  I  was  carried  I 
know  not :  it  was  still  dark  when  I  was  lifted  from  the 
horse,  and  I  think  twenty  minutes  must  have  elopsed 
before  they  forced  me  along  on  foot  in  the  water  for 
some  distance,  and  then  up  a  steep  hill  through  thick 
bushes.  Mr.  Forster  then  said  to  me,  '  You  are  at 
home  now.' 

"  I  heard  somebody  speak,  as  if  from  out  of  the  earth, 
and  then  I  found  myself  in  a  room  lighted  by  a  lamp, 
and  this  woman,  Mrs.  M'Cloud,  was  sitting  on  a  stool 
near  the  lamp.  Looking  at  me  steadily  for  some  time, 
she  said, 

" '  Isaac's  a'liar  ;  this  here  gal's  a  lady.  Well,  he 
deceives  everybody,  even  me  :  he'll  get  deceived  him- 
self some  of  these  times.' 

" '  Trust  me  for  that,  you  old  hag,'  he  replied  from 
the  outside  of  the  door.  '  Mind  your  own  business,  or 
remember.'' 

"  She  shook  her  head  and  replied  to  him,  '  I  hear.' 

" '  Heed  me,  then,'  he  said, '  or  you  will  never  see 
the  outside  of  this  cave.  You  shall  never  leave  it, 
living  or  dead.' 

" '  I  know  that,'  she  said ;  '  you  needn't  tell  me  I 
can't  help  myself  if  I  would,  any  more  than  this  poor 
young  lady.' 

"  I  threw  myself,  or  rather  fell,  on  a  pallet  bed,  cov- 
ered my  face,  and  sobbed  aloud.  My  heart  was  full 
to  bursting ;  I  could  hardly  breathe,  and  felt  as  if  I 
should  suffocate  every  instant.  This  woman,  who  has 
treated  me  as  kindly  as  she  knew  how,  I  believe,  got 
up  and  offered  me  some  kind  of  spirits,  saying  it  would 
do  me  good  ;  but  I  did  not  raise  my  head. 

"  '  Well,  well,'  said  she,  'you'll  come  to  it  whether 
or  no,  I  guess  ;  grief  wd  sorrow  are  mighty  thirsty  feel- 
ings.' 

"  How  long  I  remained  in  that  room  in  the  cave  I 
do  not  know.  Mr.  Forster  frequently  came  into  the 
room,  ordered  Mrs.  M'Cloud  out,  and  urged  me  to  mar- 
ry him,  always  saying  that,  if  I  would,  he  could  save 
my  father's  life  and  free  his  reputation  from  the  stain. 


380  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

that  would  rest  on  it ;  that  my  father  was  in  his  pow- 
er, but  that,  if  I  did  not  yield  to  his  proposals,  my  fa- 
ther should  die  the  death  of  a  murderer,  although  not 
guilty  of  the  crime  ;  that  he  knew  who  killed  Job  Ter- 
ry, and  meant  to  make  his  death  answer  his  own  pur- 
poses ;  and  that,  if  I  did  not  agree  to  marry  him  in  a 
short  time,  which  he  said  he  gave  me  for  reflection,  1 
should  never  again  see  the  light  of  day — should  never 
leave  the  cave ;  and,  moreover,  that  he  would  force 
me  to  marry  him  so  soon  as  I  had  permitted  my  father 
to  die,  when  I  had  the  power  to  save  him  by  consent- 
ing to  become  his  wife.  Hard  was  the  trial  and  sore 
the  conflict,  and  bitter  the  thought  that  'my  father  must 
die,  but  I  knew  and  felt  that  I  was  not  permitted  to  do 
evil  that  good  might  come  of  it ;  that  the  blessing  of 
God  cannot  rest  on  actions  that  he  has  forbidden,  no 
matter  to  what  end  they  are  performed.  I  was  sup- 
ported and  sustained  under  all  these  trials,  thanks,  ev- 
erlasting thanks  to  my  heavenly  Father,  till  I  was  res- 
cued from  that  dreadful  place.  How  that  was  accom- 
plished, this  excellent  gentleman,"  said  she,  turning  to 
Squire  Templeman,  "to  whom  I  owe  so  much,  and 
Ben  Bramble,  my  kind  and  brave  friend,  can  best  in- 
form you." 

Her  narrative  being  ended,  Squire  Templeman  step- 
ped up  to  the  clerk's  table  to  be  sworn,  when  the  clat- 
ter of  horses'  feet  were  heard  approaching  the  court- 
house. 

"  Make  way,  make  way,"  was  heard  at  the  door, 
and  two  young  men  rushed  up  the  steps  and  into  the 
hall.  All  eyes  were  on  them  except  those  of  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger  and  his  daughter,  who  seemed  to  hear  and  see 
nothing,  so  much  were  they  absorbed  and  overpower- 
ed by  the  intense  feelings  excite^  by  Matilda's  recital. 
The  taller  and  more  robust  of  the  two  young  men  ad- 
vanced rapidly  towards  the  clerk's  table,  and  said,  ad- 
dressing the  judge, 

"  Danger,  imminent  danger  to  the  life  and  honour 
of  a  gentleman,  my  friend,  must  plead  my  apology, 
your  honour,  for  the  abrupt — " 


THE    RESCUE.  381 

A  loud  scream  interrupted  the  speaker.  At  the 
first  tones  of  his  voice,  Matilda  Ballenger  had  sprung 
to  her  feet,  caught  a  glimpse  of  his  face,  screamed, 
and  fell  fainting  on  the  floor.  In  an  instant  the  stran- 
ger reached  the  spot  where  she  lay,  and  resting  with 
one  knee  on  the  floor,  raised  her  head.  Slowly  she 
revived,  and  looking  up,  a  deep  blush  suffused  her 
face  and  neck  as  she  said, 

"  Oh  !  Victor,  have  you  come  to  behold  my  fa- 
ther's—" 

"  Yes,  dearest  Matilda,  I  am  here,  thank  God,  to 
behold  your  father's  triumphant  vindication  of  his  life 
and  reputation  ;  I  am  here  to  prove  his  perfect  inno- 
cence by  the  most  positive  and  irrefragable  evidence." 

"  Still,"  said  Matilda,  hiding  her  face  with  her 
hands,  "  he  has  been  arraigned  for  a  horrid  crime,  and 
although  his  innocence  may  be  proved  to  all  the  world, 
I,  his  daughter — " 

Her  voice  failed,  and  was  lost  in  sobs. 

"  His  daughter  is  worthy  of  her  father,"  said  Victor; 
"  worthy  of  all  that  earth  and  heaven  can  bestow.  Oh  ! 
Matilda,  my  own,  my  aflianced  bride — for  such  I  am 
proud  to  claim  you  before  the  world — I  know  all  your 
father's  danger — your  own  agonizing  sufferings  in  the 
cave — your  providential  rescue.  Where  is  the  mon- 
ster who  wove  this  web  of  villany  and  crime  ?"  (Will- 
iam Henry  Ballenger  had  raised  his  sister  from  the 
arms  of  Victor  Carrington,  and  placed  her  on  a  chair.) 
"  Where  is  Isaac  Forstcr  ?" 

He  pronounced  the  words  with  an  emphasis  so 
strong,  and  an  intonation  so  deep,  and  thrilling,  and 
imperative,  that  the  wretched  villain  started  up  me- 
chanically, and  answered, 

"Here!" 

All  eyes  were  turned  upon  him.  His  own  were 
fixed  on  Samuel  Carter,  for  he  it  was  who  had  en- 
tered the  court-house  with  Victor  Carrington.  Isaac 
Forster  was  blasted  and  withered  by  the  vision.  If 
the  earth  had  yawned  and  a  spirit  from  the  vasty  deep 
had  stood  before  him  to  drag  him  down  to  perdition, 


382  NEW   HOPE  ;    OB, 

he  could  not  have  exhibited  a  more  terror-stricken  ap- 
pearance. His  fate  was  sealed  forever.  He  knew 
it,  he  felt  it,  he  looked  it ;  and  all  who  beheld  him 
could  see  its  deep,  dark,  indelible  stamp  upon  the 
wretch's  face.  These  startling  occurrences  had  inter- 
rupted the  business  of  the  court.  Squire  Templeman 
at  last  said, 

"  There  will  be  no  occasion  now,  I  believe,  may  it 
please  the  court,  for  my  testimony.  There  is  a  wit- 
ness in  court,  I  understand,  who  has  just  arrived,  whose 
evidence  is  of  great  importance." 

Mr.  Wickham  said  to  the  clerk,  "  Swear  Samuel 
Carter." 

Our  readers  will  no  doubt  recollect  the  contents  of 
his  letter  to  Isaac  Forster  and  his  statements  to  Mr. 
Carrington,  and  it  is  therefore  unnecessary  to  repeat 
them.  These  he  swore  to  ;  whence  it  was  evident 
that  Forster  himself  had  killed  Job  Terry.  The  only 
additional  fact  which  he  stated  was  the  pains  Forster 
took  to  incense  him  against  the  pedler  on  the  day  be- 
fore his  murder. 

The  reader  will  now  readily  imagine,  what  was 
really  true,  that  Isaac  Forster  had  modified  his  intend- 
ed course  of  action  against  Mr.  Ballenger,  and,  instead 
of  assassinating  him,  determined  to  bring  his  life  into 
jeopardy,  in  order,  through  her  fears  for  her  father's 
life,  to  obtain  the  hand  of  Matilda,  and  then  deceiving 
her,  to  cause,  if  possible,  his  condemnation  and  execu- 
tion. Circumstances  seemed  to  favour,  or  might  have 
suggested  the  change  in  his  original  design  :  the  anger 
of  young  Carter  against  the  pedler,  the  payment  of  the 
guinea  (which  could  be  identified)  by  Matilda.  While 
sitting  in  the  porch  at  Mr.  Ballenger's,  Isaac  Forster 
had  heard  the  poor  pedler,  when  going  away  and 
meeting  Mr.  Ballenger  in  the  yard,  ask  him,  in  a  low 
tone  of  voice,  to  give  him  notes  for  specie,  which  it 
was  inconvenient  and  attended  with  more  risk  to  carry 
in  any  considerable  quantity  ;  had  seen  them  go  to- 
gether into  Mr.  Ballenger's  chamber,  and  heard  the 
pedler,  on  coming  out,  address  Mr.  Ballenger  with, 


THE    RESCUE.  383 

"  Much  obliged  to  you,  sir  ;"  had  there  formed  his  hor- 
rible plan— had  taken  the  dirk  from  the  mantelpiece 
and  secreted  it.  Accident,  too,  favoured  his  designs, 
for  Mr.  Ballenger's  handkerchief  had  fallen  from  his 
pocket,  and  was  picked  up  by  Isaac  Forster  near  the 
yard  gate  as  he  departed  on  his  murderous  errand. 

After  Samuel  Carter  had  given  his  evidence,  Mr. 
Walker  stated  that  he  thought  it  entirely  unnecessary 
to  call  any  other  witnesses  in  behalf  of  Mr.  Ballenger, 
and  inquired  of  the  commonwealth's  attorney  if  he  in- 
tended to  argue  the  case. 

"  No,  sir,"  said  he,  "  I  abandon  the  prosecution,  per- 
fectly satisfied  of  the  innocence  of  Mr.  Ballenger." 

Mr.  Wickham  and  Mr.  Randolph  made  a  few  elo- 
quent remarks  on  the  extraordinary  nature  of  the  case, 
and  the  latter  concluded  by  remarking  that,  in  the 
whole  course  of  his  practice,  no  case  had  occurred  in 
which  the  chain  of  circumstantial  evidence  against  the 
accused  had  been  so  strong  as  in  this ;  yet  an  over- 
ruling Providence,  to  justify  the  ways  of  God  to  man, 
had  demolished  and  broken  to  atoms  every  link  at  one 
blow  ;  had  defeated  and  exposed  a  deep-laid  and  des- 
perately dark  conspiracy  by  the  most  humble  and  art- 
less means — the  attachment  of  a  faithful  hound.  Let 
no  man  hereafter  flatter  himself  that  crime  can  be  con- 
cealed, or  that  the  criminal  can  ultimately  escape  ;  and 
let  no  man,  who  is  really  guiltless,  ever  despair  of 
honourable  acquittal,  if  he  believes  and  confidently 
trusts  in  the  providential  care  of  the  great  Father  of 
light,  the  Christian's  God. 

The  judge  said  to  the  jury,  "  Are  you  prepared  to 
render  your  verdict,  or  will  you  retire  ?" 

The  jury  rose  to  their  feet,  and  the  foreman  said, 

"  We  are  prepared  now,  sir.  We  find  Edward  Bal- 
lenger Not  Guilty  /" 

Mr.  Ballenger  was  instantly  discharged,  the  court 
adjourned,  and  the  hall  rang  with  acclamations.  Isaac 
Forster,  strongly  guarded  and  attended  by  Squire  Tem- 
pleman  to  the  door  of  the  prison,  was  locked  in,  and 
armed  men  were  stationed  around  the  jail.  Aa  the 


384  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

judge,  the  lawyers,  Mr.  Ballenger,  his  son  and  daugh- 
ter, Victor  Carririgton,  Miss  Templeman,  and  her 
father,  attended  by  a  numerous  party  of  friends,  passed 
through  the  crowd  to  the  principal  inn  of  the  village, 
the  shouts  of  the  people  manifested  their  joy  at  the  ac- 
quittal of  the  innocent,  and  the  triumph  of  truth  and 
justice. 


CHAPTER  XL. 

AFTER  receiving  the  congratulations  of  their 
friends  and  acquaintances  on  the  fortunate  escape 
of  Mr.  Ballenger  from  the  imminent  danger  which 
menaced  him,  the  providential  rescue  of  Matilda, 
and  the  timely  arrival  of  Victor  Carrington  and 
Samuel  Carter,  Mr.  Ballenger,  his  son,  and  daugh- 
ter retired  to  the  apartments  prepared  for  them, 
and  there  they  threw  themselves  on  their  knees, 
and  poured  out  to  God  the  full  tide  of  gratitude 
that  filled  their  hearts.  How  feeble  to  them  seem- 
ed their  strongest  expressions  of  praise  and  thanks- 
giving !  How  powerless  was  the  tongue  to  express 
the  emotions  of  the  soul !  How  feeble  and  inade- 
quate to  their  sense  of  obligation  and  of  blessings 
received  were  their  powers  of  language  !  In  their 
supplications  for  His  saving  grace,  the  whole  hu- 
man race  was  included  ;  and  for  their  enemies,  and 
especially  for  him  from  whom  they  had  suffered  so 
much  wrong,  their  petitions  for  mercy,  for  forgive- 
ness, and  for  the  turning  of  him  from  the  error  of 
his  ways,  and  granting  him  true  repentance,  were 
most  eloquent,  ardent,  and  sincere.  What  love  of 
our  fellow-creatures,  what  magnanimity  of  soul, 
what  generous  forgiveness  of  inflicted  injuries,  can 
compare  with  those  of  an  enlightened  Christian! 
It  is  the  soul-enlarging  power  of  the  religion  of 


THE    RESCUE.  385 

Jesus  of  Nazareth  that  raises  man  from  the  lowest 
point  of  mortality  to  the  highest  pinnacle  of  moral 
elevation  ;  from  the  filth  and  mire  of  degrading 
passions  and  propensities,  to  the  pure  atmosphere 
of  virtue — from  earth  to  heaven.  Talk  of  honour, 
and  dignity,  and  standing' among  men!  There  is 
no  honour  so  great,  no  dignity  so  commanding,  no 
standing  among  men  so  lofty,  as  that  of  an  enlight- 
ened Christian  gentleman. 

After  the  thrilling  excitements  of  the  day,  silence 
and  repose  rested  upon  the  village  of  Lewisburg. 
Night  overshadowed  the  earth.  No  sounds  were 
heard  in  the  street,  and  peaceful  sleep  had  closed 
the  eyes  of  all.  No,  not  of  all ;  there  was  one  who 
slept  not.  The  burning  lava  of  thought  over- 
whelmed his  doomed  and  guilty  soul.  From  him 
sleep  fled  affrighted,  and  peaceful  repose  came 
not  near.  In  the  darkness  of  the  night  he  could 
see,  as  he  sat  alone  in  the  jail — could  distinctly 
see,  the  form  of  him  whom  he  had  murdered,  stand- 
ing out  from  the  wall  before  him.  The  eyes  were 
glaring  upon  him  in  glazed  and  startling  bright- 
ness. Grinning,  jibbering  spectres  pointed  their 
long  and  bloody  fingers  at  him,  and  laughed  with 
horrible,  soul-freezing  malignity.  In  vain  did  he 
often  change  his  position  and  look  to  another  side 
of  his  cell :  still  the  appalling  form  was  before 
him.  Look  where  he  would,  there — there  it  was; 
the  eyes  dilated,  and  fixed  upon  his  with  burning 
intensity.  Nearer  and  nearer  they  seemed  to  ap* 
proach  him.  In  the  phrensied  agony  of  his  soul, 
he  arose  and  paced  the  room  ;  his  knees  knocked 
together,  and  the  big  drops  of  perspiration  started 
from  his  face.  The  spectral  form  descended  from 
the  wall  and  confronted  him  at  every  turn.  He 
stopped  as  if  a  sudden  thought  had  crossed  his 
mind.  He  looked  up  to  the  low  ceiling,  then 
mounted  on  the  stool  on  which  he  had  been  sitting, 
and  groped  about  with  his  cold,  clammy,  trembling 
hands.  He  then  got  down,  went  to  the  narrow- 


386  NEW  HOPE;  OR, 

barred  window,  and  seemed  to  be  listening,  as  if  he 
were  apprehensive  of  being  seen  or  heard.  In  the 
morning,  when  the  jailer  opened  the  prison  door, 
he  found  Isaac  Forster  a  ghastly,  stark,  and  livid 
corpse,  suspended  by  the  neck  from  the  ceiling  of 
the  cell.  He  had,  with  his  teeth  and  hands,  rent 
his  handkerchief  into  shreds,  twisted  them  into  a 
cord,  and,  mounted  on  the  stool,  had  broken  a  hole 
through  the  ceiling,  and  passed  the  cord  around  a 
joist,  from  which  he  had  swung  himself  into  eter- 
nity. "  The  righteousness  of  the  perfect  shall  di- 
rect his  way,  but  the  wicked  shall  fall  by  his  own 
wickedness.  The  righteousness  of  the  upright 
shall  deliver  them,  but  transgressors  shall  be  taken 
in  their  own  naughtiness.  When  a  wicked  man 
dieth,  his  expectation  shall  perish,  and  the  hope 
of  unjust  men  perisheth.  The  righteous  is  deliv- 
ered out  of  trouble,  and  the  wicked  cometh  in  his 
stead." 

An  examination  of  the  papers  of  the  guilty  sui- 
cide disclosed  the  many  artful  and  monstrous  frauds 
which  he  had  perpetrated,  and  more  still  which  he 
intended  to  commit.  The  forged  will  of  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger,  with  the  places  of  the  date  left  blank,  and 
the  vial  of  ink  to  fill  the  blank  labelled  "  For  Bui- 
lenger's  will"  was  only  one  among  several  others. 
Almost  every  man  whose  agent  he  had  been,  it  was 
now  ascertained,  had  suffered  from  his  perfidy  and 
cunningly-contrived  frauds;  and  it  was  most  re- 
markable, that  not  one  of  these  was  so  much  bene- 
fited by  the  discovery  of  his  evil  deeds  as  the  man 
whom  he  intended  most  deeply  to  injure,  and  even 
to  destroy  —  Mr.  Edward  Ballenger.  The  lands 
which  had  been  collusively  sold  and  reconveyed 
to  Isaac  Forster  were  all  recovered.  These  Mr. 
Ballenger  transferred  to  the  merchants  from  whom 
he  derived  his  title  to  the  lands.  So  great  was 
their  value,  that  the  proceeds  of  their  sale  not  only 
relieved  Smith  and  Bird,  Buchanan  and  Alexander 
from  all  their  embarrassments,  but  left  them  in 


THE    RESCUE.  387 

easy  circumstances.  Of  those  retained  by  Mr. 
Ballenger,  the  tracts  in  New- York  and  northwest 
of  the  Ohio  River  he  sold  for  one  hundred  and  sev- 
enty-five thousand  eight  hundred  dollars. 

Thus  it  is  that  the  actions  of  bad  men  often  reach 
a  point  at  which  they  never  aimed,  and  even  in 
quite  a  contrary  direction.  An  overruling  Provi- 
dence, while  it  leaves  men  free  to  will  and  to  act, 
holds  the  final  result  of  all  they  will  and  all  they 
do  in  its  own  hands.  Men  only  know  what  they 
intend  and  what  they  do,  but  they  cannot  foresee 
the  results  of  their  intentions  or  of  their  actions. 
But  we  have  the  highest  authority  for  believing 
that  he  is  most  certain  of  success  whose  purposes 
and  acts  are  most  in  accordance  with  the  Divine 
mind,  whose  means  of  carrying  them  into  effect  are 
such  as  we,  from  his  holy  character,  must  believe 
he  will  vouchsafe  to  crown  with  success. 

The  counterfeiters  were  all  taken,  and  suffered 
the  penalty  of  their  crimes.  Joe  Swinton  alias 
Richard  Winter,  after  conviction,  made  his  escape, 
although  he  was  in  irons,  and  guarded  by  four  men  ; 
and  being  hotly  pursued,  he  attempted  to  cross  the 
Kanawha  in  a  skiff  above  the  falls,  but,  not  hand- 
ling an  oar  with  as  much  dexterity  as  the  ore,  he 
was  hurried  by  the  rapid  current  over  the  falls,  and 
drowned. 

Uriah  Blixon  alias  George  Baxter,  as  we  have 
related,  was  shot  through  the  head  in  the  cave  by 
Nat  Colly. 

Mrs.  M'Cloud  was  the  only  person  whom  Isaac 
Forster  had  defrauded  and  injured,  that  was  not 
benefited  ultimately  by  his  death.  Her  lands  were 
of  no  service  to  her,  for,  shortly  after  her  deliver- 
ance from  the  cave,  she  died  of  apoplexy,  produced 
by  high  spirits. 

Nat  Colly  lived  to  be  a  very  old  man,  continu- 
ing to  hunt  in  the  Loop,  and  to  his  dying  day  be- 
lieving and  asserting  that  the  scare  he  got  on  the 
Kanawha  must  have  been  some  device  of  Zac  For- 


388  NEW   HOPE  ;    OR, 

ster,  who,  he  verily  believed,  dealt  with  the  devil, 
and  was  allowed  by  him  to  do  "  onnat'ral  things." 

Sam  Dyer  never  wore  a  wooden  jacket  a  second 
time,  and  we  believe  that,  as  he  grew  older,  the 
suit  Parson  Jenkins  made  for  him  sat  more  loosely 
on  him,  and  confined  him  less  than  in  his  early 
days.  He  could  never  be  prevailed  on,  though,  to 
go  opossum  hunting,  but  that  made  no  odds  be- 
tween him  and  Sal,  for,  as  she  grew  older,  she  lost 
her  taste  for  the  flesh  of  marsupial  animals. 

Charley  Vandal,  we  incline  to  think,  married  the 
pretty  Patsey  Layton,  with  whom  he  became  so 
much  enamoured  at  the  wedding  near  the  Hawk's 
Nest,  for  there  are  Charley  Vandals  and  Layton 
Vandals,  and  many  other  young  Vandals,  west  of 
the  Alleghanies. 

Old  Uncle  Tom,  the  faithful  and  devoted  servant 
of  Mr.  Ballenger,  lived  many  years,  kindly  cared 
for  and  cherished  by  his  honoured  master  and  his 
children,  more  and  more  confirmed  in  his  opinion 
that  it  was  "  mity  hard  to  find  out  people  here  in 
de  woods." 

Samuel  Carter  was  entirely  reformed  by  the  sit- 
uation in  which  he  was  placed  by  the  belief  that 
he  had  killed  Job  Terry,  and  the  serious  reflections 
to  which  it  gave  rise. 

George  Arbuckle  Templeman  devoted  himself 
to  the  military  service  of  his  country.  In  the  war 
of  1812,  he  distinguished  himself  for  personal  in- 
trepidity and  military  conduct,  was  promoted  to 
the  command  of  a  regiment,  and  then  of  a  brigade. 
We  have  not  seen  the  army  list  lately,  and  there- 
fore cannot  say  where  General  Templeman  is  at 
present  stationed.  We  hope  that,  in  the  rage  for 
retrenchment  and  reform,  the  country  will  not  be 
deprived  of  his  valuable  services. 

How  often  in  this  life  do  joy  and  sorrow  tread 
on  each  other's  heels!  The  morning  after  Mr. 
Ballenger's  acquittal,  Victor  Carrington  related  to 
Matilda,  her  father  and  brother,  his  accidental 


THE    RESCUE.  889 

meeting  with  Samuel  Carter  at  Mrs.  Blanchard's, 
in  Liverpool  j  their  instant  embarcation  for  the 
United  States,  and  arrival  at  Baltimore.  In  pas*, 
ing  from  Baltimore  to  Lewisburg,  where  he  knew 
Mr.  Ballenger  would  be  tried,  accompanied  by  Sam- 
uel Carter,  he  sought  the  nearest  route  to  the  Val- 
ley of  the  Kanawha,  by  Wheeling,  thence  down  the 
Ohio  River  to  a  point  opposite  an  island  in  the 
river,  which,  at  a  subsequent  period,  became  the 
residence  of  Hermann  Blennerhasset  and  his  ac- 
complished and  beautiful  wife ;  thence  he  struck 
across  a  wild  and  mountainous  country  to  the  Falls 
of  the  Great  Kanawha.  Here  he  learned  that  he 
had  not  a  moment  to  lose,  and  crossing  the  river  at 
the  falls,  passed  rapidly  on  by  Cotton  Hill,  and 
through  the  Loop  towards  the  ferry  on  New  River. 
In  the  Loop  he  met  Nat  Colly  and  Charley  Vandal 
carrying  the  remains  of  Ben  Bramble  to  his  hum- 
ble cabin  near  the  falls.  From  them  he  learned 
the  particulars  of  the  discovery  of  the  cave,  of  Ma- 
tilda's rescue,  and  the  death  of  Ben  Bramble,  with 
whose  character,  habits,  and  pursuits  he  had  been 
made  acquainted  by  the  letters  of  William  Henry 
and  Matilda  herself,  to  whom  he  had  sent  a  little 
present,  which  he  thought  she  might  be  pleased  in 
giving,  as  appropriate,  to  her  friend  the  hardy 
hunter.  The  delight  and  admiration  with  which 
he  received  it  will  doubtless  be  recollected  by  our 
readers. 

Though  tenderness,  and  love,  and  admiration 
marked  every  act  and  look  of  Victor  Carrington 
towards  Matilda,  still  she  could  detect  (what  will 
not  the  eyes  of  woman  detect  in  him  she  loves,  ex- 
cept his  faults'?  —  before  marriage  I  mean,  of 
course)  a  shade  of  sadness  on  his  brow,  an  occa- 
sional trace  of  sorrow,  which  she  could  not  account 
for,  and  which  distressed,  or,  rather,  disturbed  and 
rendered  her  uneasy.  Alas!  it  was  the  death  of 
Ben  Bramble,  of  which  Matilda  had  not  heard,  that 
tinged  his  face  with  gloom.  Her  heart  was  yet 


390  NEW   HOPE  J    OR, 

free  from  a  pang  of  sharp  sorrow  that  was  to  pierce 
it.  Little  did  she  imagine  that  his  parting  words 
at  Squire  Templeman's  were  prophetic  ;  that  she 
would  see  his  honest,  kind,  and  manly  face  no  more 
on  earth  ;  that  he  who  had  risked  his  life  to  save 
her  from  dishonour,  and  perhaps  from  death,  had 
in  that  very  cave  from  which  he  had  delivered  her 
poured  out  the  warm  and  generous  current  of  his 
life's  blood  in  vindicating  the  violated  laws  of  his 
country.  Bitter,  bitter  was  her  grief  when,  in  sor- 
rowful accents,  Victor  Carrington  related  to  her 
the  sad  and  untimely  fate  of  Ben  Bramble. 


CHAPTER  THE  FORTY-FIRST  AND  LAST. 

GENTLE  reader,  our  task  is  nearly  done.  We 
must  part,  perhaps  forever,  but  not  the  worse,  I 
hope,  for  our  brief  and  kindly  intercourse.  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger,  whose  ill  health  had  been  aggravated,  if  not 
originally  produced,  by  the  action  of  the  mind  upon 
the  body,  recovered  rapidly  after  regaining  his  lib- 
erty and  his  fortune.  Mr.  Hockley,  his  neighbour, 
became  restless,  and  sold  out  his  farm  to  Mr.  Bal- 
lenger,  dismissed  his  suit  against  him,  and  moved 
away.  Mr.  Ballenger  built  a  large,  convenient 
house  on  his  own  land,  using  the  old  one  for  a 
kitchen  and  servants'  house,  and  determined  to 
spend  the  remainder  of  his  days  on  the  banks  of 
the  Great  Kanawha. 

About  five  or  six  years  after  the  events  related 
in  the  preceding  chapters,  a  lady,  who  seemed  to 
be  twenty-three  or  four  years  of  age,  was  seated 
under  the  shade  of  a  spreading  sugar-maple-tree  in 
Mr.  Ballenger's  garden  reading,  and  a  fine,  healthy 
little  boy,  apparently  four  or  five  years  old,  was 
lying  on  the  grass  at  her  feet,  with  his  arms  around 


THE    RESCUE.  391 

the  neck  of  an  aged  honnd.  The  dog  was  evident- 
ly accustomed  to  and  pleased  with  the  caresses  of 
the  child. 

"Now,  Kate,"  he  said  to  the  dog,  "I've  got  you 
fast.  You  shan't  go  to  mother  and  little  Cousin 
Mattie  Ballanger  ;  you  shall  stay  here  with  me  and 
Aunt  Helen.  Yonder  she  goes — my  mother,  Kate." 

The  dog  disengaged  herself  from  his  arms,  and 
trotted  offafter  the  lady  and  little  girl  who  had  en- 
tered the  garden,  and  were  walking  towards  a  whi  e 
marble  slab  raised  about  two  feet  from  the  ground 
by  a  basis  of  solid  masonry.  Two  willow-trees 
threw  their  pendent  boughs  over  it.  As  soon  as 
the  dog  left  him,  the  little  hoy  leaped  up  from  the 
green  turf,  and  pulling  at  the  lady's  dress,  said, 

"Aunt  Helen — Aunt  Helen  Ballenger,  didn't  you 
tell  me  that  your  father,  Mr.  Squire  Templeman, 
was  coming  here  to-morrow'?" 

The  lady  smiled,  and  replied,  "Victor,  I  told  you 
that  Mr.  Edward  Templeman,  my  father,  not  Mr. 
Squire  Templeman,  was  coming  here  to-morrow." 

"  Well,  aunt,  I'm  going  to  ask  him  why  he  al- 
ways goes  to  that  white  stone  when  he  conies  here, 
and  what  makes  mother  cry  so  whenever  she  poes 
there.  Look  at  her  now,  with  her  handkerchief  to 
her  eyes,  and  old  Kate  looking  up  in  her  face  as 
if  she  was  going  to  cry  too !" 

Need  we  say  who  that  weeper  was  1  or  that  the 
stone  was  inscribed, 

*       "  SACRED  TO  THE  MEMORTc 


BEN    BRAMBLE." 


THE    END. 


• 


Date  Due 


DBMCMM 


UC  SOUTHERN  REGIONAL  LIBRARY  FACILITY 


A     000  035  589     1 


C163 


I 


